After the Storm
by Jacksvoiceofreason
Summary: Clare stumbles upon Eli in the midst of a particularly terrifying panic attack, propelling them haphazardly back into each other's worlds. Will they have the courage to rebuild their friendship? Can they trust again? Everything is altered after the storm.
1. A New Low

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 1: A New Low **

**And now for something completely different,* I offer you a little something EClare. Despite all of the reports to the contrary, I still have faith in them as a couple. However, before any EClare reunion can occur, a few things need to happen. Eli needs to focus on getting better and learn how to manage his illness. Eli and Clare need to have an honest conversation about their relationship and about all of the truly traumatizing crap Eli has put Clare through. Clare needs to develop the maturity to handle a partner with so much mental and emotional baggage (not an easy feat, by any means, especially for a girl in high school). And they both need to resolve not to make any stupid promises about never leaving each other. Maybe if all of these things happen; the writers take pity on us; and we all clap our hands together and chant, "We do believe in EClare. We do believe in EClare," EClare will indeed happen again.****

**One thing I should make clear though, to save critics the time of reading, is that this fiction will in NO WAY be about Clare getting "what is coming to her." If you haven't read my other fiction, "In Defense of Clare," you may be unaware of my position surrounding the current persecution of Ms. Edwards. To put it bluntly, it literally turns my stomach to read the massive amounts of Clare hate surging through the Degrassi Universe. From what I've read, it seems that people cannot wait for Clare to be cheated on; to break down completely; to lose all of her friends; to be soundly and publically humiliated; in other words, to "get what she deserves." Clare Bashing has become a fun, new pastime in which all the "cool kids" are participating. In fact, if I didn't find it so horrifying, I could really savor the mouth-watering deliciousness of what I like to refer to as the anti-Clare hypocrisy. Call me crazy and take away the keys to my hearse, but it seems to me that quite a few anti-Clare fans are exhibiting the very behaviors that they dogmatically accuse Clare of embodying. Calling out Clare for being judgmental, immature, whiny, melodramatic, and mean - all the while gleefully bashing Clare and wishing her nothing but humiliation and misery (and sometimes even harm) simply because she is dating Jake and was snarky to Alli? Hmmmm …? Could someone please pass the hypocrisy? Oh, and is there another slice of that delectable double standard left? Really, it just seems so "junior high bullying in the girls' bathroom."**

**So, gentle readers, in my story, Clare Edwards will not spiral into a deep depression and prostrate herself before Eli, begging his forgiveness for her many "sins" against him. Oh no, in my story, Clare Edwards will be the hero. Obviously, she will be a flawed hero (all interesting heroes are- and, really, we are talking about Clare here), but she will be the hero, nonetheless. So, read at your own risk.**

**This story is set somewhere in the current 2011-2012 school year. Jake and Clare have broken up, after he rejected her offer to sleep with him (What a bitch! Coming on to her boyfriend, for God's sake! I hope someone slaps some sense into her- or just slaps her!). Eli and Clare have not had much contact since the awkward truck ride home in **_**Nowhere to Run**_**. And Eli is still struggling with managing his illness- a struggle that will more than likely plague him all of his life, since mental illness cannot be cured in the course of one 30 minute episode. Wouldn't it be great if it could?**

**A big shout out to the band Mumford and Sons and their song "After the Storm" for the title of this story and to Middle Class Rut, whose song "A New Low" inspired this chapter title. Give them both a listen. You won't regret it.**

**I do not own **_**Degrassi**_** or any of the characters associated with it.**

*** Gratuitous Monty Python (which I also do not own) reference : )**

**** Even more gratuitous **_**Peter Pan**_** (which I don't own either) reference ; )**

It was starting to rain. Icy rivulets dripped down Eli Goldsworthy's face, as he flipped the collar of his leather jacket up in a futile attempt to keep dry. For the millionth time that day, he wished for his hearse. But Morty was now a twisted piece of metal in some salvage yard, a tangible reminder of Eli's persistent psychosis and dramatic mental breakdown. As much as he hated it, Eli was now dependent on his parents for rides, like some pathetic middle schooler.

The wind picked up, cutting like glass through Eli's exposed skin and propelling the freezing drops of water into his face where they exploded like shrapnel. "God damn it," Eli thought to himself, brushing his soggy bangs out of his eyes. This so wasn't his idea. Given the choice, there was no way he would ever be wandering the streets of downtown Toronto in a godforsaken rain storm. No, this was all his mother's idea.

CeCe had dropped him off downtown earlier and had run off to do errands, encouraging Eli to get out and "have fun," her voice maniacally cheerful in the face of his sullen demeanor. But, as much as Eli cursed his current situation, he didn't really blame his mom. He had been moping around the house for the last few weeks, tense and agitated. Try as he might, lately he just couldn't seem to settle. He was antsy- wound up tighter than a virgin on her wedding night.

His stomach twisted painfully. It was a familiar feeling – this feeling of anxiety, sitting coiled and ready to spring in his gut. He had talked to his doctor about it at his last therapy session, and she had changed his medication, switching him to a brand that, according to her, was very popular with people his age who suffered from bipolar disorder. He tried to joke with her and say that, as a proud member of the counter culture, he didn't follow the popular trends. However, she just gave him a pity smile and signed the prescription. Yep, he thought with a sigh, he was definitely losing his touch – not to mention his appetite, his sex drive, his ability to focus, and, of course, any sanity he had left after the car crash.

Through the deluge of rain, Eli spotted a book store, its glowing windows flashing the seductive promise of warmth and shelter. Previously a voracious reader, it had been months since Eli had actually read a book. He just couldn't still his restless mind enough to sit for extended periods of time, let alone comprehend anything with a more complex plot structure than a comic book. It was difficult enough just trying to keep up with school. His grades had gone to shit this semester. At least, his parents weren't giving him grief about them. They were just grateful that he wasn't crashing cars or setting his work on fire in front of an audience. However, Eli knew that, deep down, they were worried, as they watched the possibility of a college scholarship go down the toilet. Hell, at this rate, he would be lucky if he managed to graduate on time.

The bell on the door of the book store jangled harshly, as Eli pushed past it. Immediately, he was met with a wall of warmth. However, instead of soothing his numb body, the change in temperature was strangely suffocating. Eli felt the air closing in on him, smothering him with its thick, viscous heat.

The lady behind the counter smiled at him, but all Eli could do was shoot her a painful, twisted grimace in return, as he made his way to a section in the back of the store, away from any curious eyes.

The damp, humid air oppressed him with its heft, skyrocketing his heart rate. Nervously, Eli put his hand on his chest, willing his heart to slow its frantic pace. He could feel his skin flushing; the warmth creeping up his torso and neck and spilling over his face, infusing his pale skin with its red stain. He shrugged off his jacket and leaned his forehead against the bookcase, deeply breathing in the warm, stale air.

After what seemed like an eternity, but, Eli knew, was only a minute or two, he cautiously opened his eyes. His fuzzy gaze focused on a picture of a table laden with food – glistening roasts, voluptuous baked goods, steaming pots of soup. In his quest for isolation, Eli had somehow ended up in the cookbook section – an ironic location given that he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten.

His stomach heaved violently, and Eli swallowed the bile furiously collecting in the back of his throat. Food was just another one of his former passions that had been dulled and spoiled by his medication.

"Young man," an older man with grizzled hair and a kind face addressed Eli. "Are you OK? You look like you are about to be ill."

"I'm fine," Eli croaked hoarsely, shaking his head and pulling his lips back in what he hoped was a semblance of a smile. "I just have a little cold; makes me lightheaded," he lied, praying that the man would leave it at that.

The man gave him a curious look but nodded once and shuffled off to the section on religious studies.

Eli breathed out a sigh of relief and forced himself to pick up a book. As much as it pained him, he knew that he better start blending in with the "normal" patrons of the book store, if he wanted to avoid observation. He had over an hour until CeCe was due to meet him.

The book was a cookbook on Italian cuisine. Page after page was covered with pictures of thick tomato sauces and curling, doughy pastas. Italian food used to be Eli's very favorite kind of food before the breakdown, but looking at the glossily enticing pictures, he started to violently shake. His stomach roiled, bitter digestive juices sloshing back and forth in the tight, empty organ. Gagging, Eli felt his saliva turn thin and salty, flooding his mouth and threatening to spill down his chin. Tears sprang in his eyes, as his vision blurred.

"Shit, shit, oh, God – please, no," Eli whispered, dropping the offending book and scrabbling desperately in his pocket for his phone. He needed to call CeCe and tell her to come now, before he lost it completely. But, try as he might, he couldn't make his hands work. His heart began to beat out of his chest, as he frantically clawed at the pocket of his jacket. Before he could even process it, his vision narrowed to a pin prick of clarity, as the oppressive blackness threatened to swallow him whole.

With a strangled cry of panic, Eli fell to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest in desperation, trying to urgently anchor himself against the onslaught of fear. He thrashed around blindly, attempting to keep the blackness at bay.

Vaguely, he felt movement around him, as the patrons of the book store, summoned by his cries of anguish, gathered around him. But then the dull, rushing sound of water filled his ears, and he gave in to the blackness- drowning in its dense, inky heat.

"Sir, Sir!" one of the employees of the store called, crouching down and putting a hand on Eli's shoulder in an attempt to get his attention.

Eli lashed out at the touch, swinging his arm wildly, and the employee retreated back to a safe distance.

"Should we call an ambulance?" a concerned woman asked. "Or the police?"

"No! No! No!" Eli moaned his voice abnormally high in terror. "Please, please, stop. Please, please, please …"

….

Clare was browsing in the young adult section of the bookstore, looking at the newly released hardback books, when she heard the commotion. She had been at the bookstore since it had opened earlier that morning and really should have been home long ago. However, she couldn't stomach the idea of going back to her house. Ever since Jake had rejected her after she had pitifully thrown herself at him, things at home had been tense – and that was putting it politely. Try as she might, Clare couldn't stand to be in the same room as Jake. Every time he spoke to her, Clare winced, remembering his attempt to "let her down" gently. Every time he smiled his stupid smile, Clare's stomach revolted, remembering when he had smiled at her like that. She had given him her heart, and he had stomped all over it. And now she had to live with him – see him every day – be constantly reminded of his rejection. But then, she chided herself, she should have known better. When she and Jake had decided to continue their relationship after becoming step-siblings, Clare knew, in the back of her mind, that things would not turn out well. And her fears had come true in the worst possible way. Was it any wonder then that she spent her weekends at the library or at the park or, today, at the book store?

A desperate cry jolted her from her perusal of the latest book by Sarah Dessen. Startled, Clare looked up. People were running to the food and wine section of the store, congregating around, what Clare could just make out, a prostrate figure on the floor. Was someone having a seizure? - A heart attack? Not wanting to join the crowd of rubberneckers but also not wanting to seem unconcerned, Clare hesitatingly made her way to the very edge of the throng of spectators.

"Is everything OK?" she asked a middle aged woman who was clutching the latest self-help book.

"I think that boy is on some drug," the woman replied snidely. "I'm about ready to call the police."

Peeking over the shoulders of the patrons in front of her, Clare's breath caught in her throat when she saw the crumpled figure.

Eli was rolling around on the cold, wooden floor, clutching his head in his hands and muttering desperate pleas. Instantly Clare was transported back in time to the months when she and Eli had been a couple. During her tenure as Eli's girlfriend, she had witnessed a few of Eli's panic attacks – one in the halls of Degrassi when she had unknowingly set Eli off by cleaning his locker; one in his room, as she was trying to encourage him to throw out some of the accumulated detritus that lined his walls and covered his floor; and one in Morty after a particularly heated argument over Clare's willingness to forgive Fitz, the resident bully and Eli's number one adversary. But never had she seen an attack that was as violent as the one through which Eli was currently suffering.

Looking at broken boy, Clare's first instinct was to run. It had taken all of her strength to walk away from Eli after he had crashed his car in a desperate attempt to prevent her from leaving him. And since their intensely traumatic break-up, Clare had been forced to stand by and stoically watch Eli purposely go off his medication, write and produce a play about their doomed romance, and try to sabotage her relationship with Jake by attempting to plant prescription pills in Jake's locker. As much as she wanted to deny it, as much as she tried to remember the good times at the start of their relationship, Clare had finally been forced to acknowledge that she and Eli were simply not good for each other. In fact, when it came down to it, they were a toxic combination. What had started out as something beautiful had morphed into something destructive for the both of them. Thus, the last thing Clare needed at this low point of her life was to get tangled up in Eli again.

Tears filled her eyes, as she slowly turned towards the store's exit. She would call Eli's mother from outside of the store. She was pretty sure she still had her number in her contacts. CeCe would know what to do. CeCe could rescue Eli, and Clare could go on her way – back to her own problems.

"Oh, God, please, please…I can't do this… please…" Eli begged, his voice ragged with despair.

Clare didn't know if it was his tortured tone or his invocation of a God he didn't believe in that changed her mind. But she turned around quickly and determinedly pushed through the crowd.

Up close, Eli looked even more shattered. He was writhing on the floor, teeth chattering, as violent tremors shook his body. His eyes were unfocused and streaming with tears. Clare approached him cautiously.

"Miss, don't go near him," the book store employee warned. "He's not in his right mind. He could seriously hurt you."

"It's OK," Clare replied, her voice shaking. She steadied it carefully. "I know him; I can handle this."

Throwing her purse to the side, she dropped to the floor and scooted forward to Eli.

"Eli!" she called firmly, putting her hand softly on his back.

"No!" Eli shrieked, flailing his arms and hitting Clare in the face. "Don't touch me! Get away from me!"

Clare rubbed her cheek where Eli had struck her. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself resolutely. "Eli," she tried again, "it's me. It's Clare. I'm here, Eli. You are going to be OK." Ignoring the curious throng who were clamoring against each other trying to obtain a better view, Clare tried again to reach out to Eli. This time she grabbed his arms to prevent him from lashing out. He struggled desperately, trying to free himself from her grasp, but she held on grimly.

"Eli!" she called again, struggling with his violent writhing. "Eli, calm down. It's Clare. It's me. It's OK, Eli. I'm here. You're not alone. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." Somehow she managed to pin his arms at his side and engulf him in a tight embrace. He fought against her viciously, clawing at her sides in a frantic attempt to break free. But she only held on tighter and started slowly rocking him back and forth. "That's right, Eli. I've got you. You're safe, Eli. I'm with you," she soothed. But the shattered boy continued his frantic struggle. Quickly, realizing that her pleas for him to calm down weren't working, Clare switched tactics and started talking conversationally instead.

"What do you think of Ms. Dawes assigning us _Frankenstein_ this year in English, Eli?" she began, her voice soothing but loud enough to be heard over Eli's anguished cries. "I have to admit, I wasn't all that excited to read it initially. I kept thinking it was going to be like those old, campy, horror movies with the guy with the square head and the bolt in his neck. But, surprisingly, I love it. The whole idea of man trying to be Godlike and creating a human without the help of a woman is fascinating."

Ignoring the assembled spectators, Clare continued to talk about the book, analyzing its latent feminist themes and delving into its parallels to Milton's _Paradise Lost_ and to the story of creation in _Genesis_. Little by little, as she quietly droned on, she felt Eli's frame start to sag against her- the tension of his muscles uncoiling a bit, as his body began to slacken. His head was buried in her neck; the shoulder of her shirt wet with his tears. She could feel his heartbeat still frantically pounding, but his tortured cries had stopped. He was now focused completely on breathing – inhaling and exhaling shallowly, forcing air into his burning lungs. His hands had stopped clawing at her and were now tightly wound around her waist in a viselike grip. Clare was pretty sure she would have bruises. She could already feel the angry scratches on her waist and hips from Eli's desperate struggle.

Pausing in her extemporaneous book talk, she looked up, noticing that the crowd had thinned significantly. Just a few concerned spectators remained, but Clare tried not to focus on them. She glanced at her purse, just out of reach, cursing herself silently for forgetting to take out her phone.

She noticed Eli's jacket lying in a crumpled heap where he had dropped it on the floor. If she could just get ahold of his phone…

Taking a deep breath, Clare tentatively loosened her tight hold on Eli. She felt him stiffen in response. "It's OK, Eli," she comforted. "I'm not going to let you go. I'm just going to get your phone and call CeCe." She cautiously removed her right arm from Eli's body.

Immediately, he grasped her tighter, burrowing into her shoulder and knocking her back against the wooden bookshelf. Her head hit the wood with a dull thud.

"Shh. It's OK," she soothed, closing her eyes and biting her lip in pain. "CeCe will help, Eli. She will know what to do. I just need to call her." She continued to talk quietly to Eli, as her right hand fumbled in the pocket of Eli's jacket. Finally, she felt the cool slickness of his phone. Bringing the device up to eye level, she one-handedly scrolled through Eli's contacts until she found CeCe.

"Please be there. Please be there, " Clare mumbled, grasping Eli tightly as the phone rang.

"Eli," CeCe's familiar voice came on the line. "Honey, are you already through? I'm right in the middle of grocery shopping. Can you hang on for another twenty minutes?"

"CeCe," Clare's voice rasped, "it's Clare."

"Clare?" CeCe's voice questioned in disbelief. "What are you doing with Eli's …"

"CeCe," Clare broke in anxiously, "I'm at Braden's Book Store on 15th Street. Eli is having some kind of panic attack. It's pretty bad – the worst I've seen from him. Can you come?" She fought to keep her voice level and soft, not wanting to set off Eli even more.

"Oh shit," CeCe breathed, her voice rising in panic. "Clare, sweetie, is he OK? He hasn't hurt himself has he?"

"No," Clare replied, her voice cracking, "I've managed to calm him down a bit, but I think he needs to see a doctor or take his medicine or something. Can you come and pick him up?"

"I'm leaving right now, Clare," CeCe cried, breathing hard. "Just hold on a little longer, Baby. I'll be right there."

"Can you call me when you are outside of the store?" Clare pleaded, desperation coloring her voice despite her efforts. "I don't think we can wait for you to find a parking space."

"Of course," CeCe replied. Clare heard a car door open and then slam shut. "Clare, I'll be right there. Just stay with him, OK?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Clare assured the frantic woman. She heard the squeal of tires before the line went dead.

Ending the call, Clare grasped the phone tightly and lowered her head onto Eli's bowed one. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that CeCe would arrive soon and that Eli would be OK.

"Miss," the manager of the bookstore called nervously from a safe distance, jarring Clare from her reverie. "Is everything OK? Should I call the authorities?"

"No," Clare stated weakly. "He's just having a panic attack. I called his mother. She will be here soon."

The manager nodded worriedly and retreated, herding the remaining spectators away from the intertwined couple.

Clare turned her attention back to Eli, rocking him gently and tightening her grasp. "Your mom is coming, Eli. Everything is going to be OK. Just hang on a little bit longer. Can you do that for me?"

He clutched her tightly, pressing his body into hers almost viciously. From their close proximity, Clare noticed that his shaking had increased slightly and that his breathing was a bit more labored. Her mind grasped anxiously for a new topic of conversation, but due to stress or exhaustion or both, she kept drawing a blank. Should she pray? The words of the Rosary came to her mind – _Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee_. Reciting the Rosary had always calmed Clare, even in her darkest moments. However, she knew that Eli was a dyed in the wool atheist. Perhaps the prayer would stress him out even more.

Suddenly, she had an idea. Clearing her throat hoarsely, she started to softly sing. Eyes closed against the film of tears threatening to fall, she whispered gently into Eli's ear, "I see your pattern, and I can match it - Just trace the lines of your paisley jacket."


	2. Medication

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 2: Medication**

**Holy hell – a new Degrassi promo. I better hurry up and get this sucker written and posted before it becomes completely AU.**

**Thanks so much for all of the alerts, favorites, and reviews. I think I speak for every author on this site when I say that the best way to inspire an update is to tell us what you think of our writing. I know it's said ad nauseam in almost every author's note, but it really does make a difference to know that people are reading and that they have an opinion (good or critical - or good and critical—wink, wink) on what they have read. So an extra special thank you to those who took the time to review.**

**Can I get a "Booyah!" for the amazing band Garbage? Listen to their song "Medication." It will blow you away.**

**I do not own Degrassi or any of its characters, nor do I own **_**The Exorcist **_**or Metallica****(although, I have to admit, I'm slightly intrigued by the prospect of such an ownership).**

By the time Eli's phone rang, heralding CeCe's arrival outside of the store, Clare had exhausted her knowledge of Dead Hand and had instead moved on to humming bits of the thrash metal and hardcore punk songs she remembered from her time spent in Eli's hearse.

Squeezing Eli to try and distract him from the shift in movement, Clare brought the phone up to her ear, "CeCe?"

"Clare, I'm here!" CeCe cried. "Hang on!"

"Wait, CeCe. Let me try to get him up and out the door…" But her words fell on deaf ears, as the bell above the bookstore clanged harshly, and a whirlwind of wet, blond hair and smeared mascara blew in.

Wildly, CeCe Goldsworthy scanned the room. She searched through each section of the book store frantically, not acknowledging the employees who were trying to address her, until her eyes honed in on the intertwined couple tangled together on the floor of the food and wine section.

"Oh, Eli!" she called, dropping to the floor. "Oh, Baby, Mama's here. Mama's here." She grasped Eli's shoulders, trying to physically heft him out of Clare's grasp and into her maternal embrace. However, in the face of her damp assault, Eli only whimpered anxiously and crawled deeper into Clare lap. Undaunted, CeCe simply embraced the two of them, resting her head against Eli's back and letting her tears fall unhindered.

"CeCe," Clare interjected softly. "CeCe."

CeCe looked up at Clare, her eyes red rimmed and smeared with the remnants of her once heavy, black, eye make-up.

"He's OK, CeCe," Clare comforted. "But we need to be calm. We need to not make him any more stressed than he already is."

"I'm sorry," CeCe croaked, withdrawing her arms from the couple. "I just hate to see him like this." She looked at Eli, trying to bury himself in Clare's arms like a frightened two year old. "It's the fucking medicine! I'm sure of it!" she cried, her voice hoarse with tears.

CeCe shook her head violently in anger, sending a spray of cold water over Eli and Clare. "He hasn't been himself lately," she continued. "He's not eating. He's not sleeping. He can't sit for more than a minute at a time. He has absolutely no interest in anything." She looked at Clare desperately, her eyes pleading. "I don't know what to do, Clare. I just don't know what to do! I feel like, no matter what we try, we're slowly losing him." A broken sob erupted from her chest.

"CeCe," Clare said calmly but firmly, "it's going to be OK. He's going to be OK. We just need to get him to a doctor." She looked directly at the shattered woman. "We can do this, CeCe. We just need to stay calm."

"OK, OK," CeCe whispered in concession. "You're right. Let's try and get him to the car."

Clare lowered her head to Eli's ear. Tightening her arms around him, she whispered, "Eli, I need you to do something for me."

Eli just buried his face further into her neck, breathing hard.

"Eli, your mom is here with the car. We need to get you to the doctor so that you can start feeling better. We think you might be having a reaction to your medication." She took a deep breath and continued. "The doctor can help you, Eli – help you to feel better. We just need to get you there." Her voice, still calm, started pleading. "Will you help us, Eli? All you have to do is stand up and walk to the car. Can you do that for me?"

Eli didn't respond.

"I promise I'll be right here with you, Eli. I won't let you go. But you are going to have to move, Eli. You are going to have to help me. I can't lift you."

Clare gestured to CeCe to come around to the other side of Eli.

"OK, Eli," Clare instructed. "On the count of three, all three of us are going to stand up. Don't worry, CeCe and I will help you. Just lean on us, if you need to." She took a deep breath, "OK, are you ready?" She leaned up on her knees, hauling Eli up with her. "One, two, three..."

CeCe grasped Eli's shoulders while Clare kept her hold on his waist. Between the two of them, they managed to raise him into a standing position. Although he kept his desperate grip on Clare, once up, Eli was able to stand on his feet.

"Good job," Clare gasped, sweat breaking out on her forehead from the exertion. "Good work, Eli. Now we are going to walk to the car, OK?"

She started moving slowly backwards, bringing Eli with her. She could feel the curious stares of the book store patrons. What a show they were giving them. Trying her best to ignore the audience, Clare inched towards the exit, CeCe walking in front, clearing a path for the bizarre procession. For a final time, Clare heard the bells clang over the door, as she shot a glance at the bookstore manager. His relief at their exit was palpable.

Once outside, Clare was instantly hit with a battering of wind and rain. She shivered, and noticed goosebumps breaking out over the skin of Eli's bare arms.

CeCe's old Chevy was double parked, the engine still running. CeCe opened the back door, and Clare cautiously backed into the car, pulling Eli with her, careful that he didn't hit his head against the door jamb. Once they were both inside, CeCe shut the door and went around to the driver's side.

Finally settled in the car, Clare breathed out a sigh of relief. She was wet and cold. Her body ached from Eli's assault and from her time spent on the book store floor. Her head throbbed dully. She wanted nothing more than a hot shower and twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. She wondered if there was any way for her to extract herself gracefully from the situation now that CeCe was here and could take over.

"Clare," CeCe broke into Clare's reverie. "Honey, do you mind coming with us to the doctors? I will call Bullfrog to come and take you home from there. I just don't want to take the time right now to drop you off. I want to get Eli to the hospital." She bit her lip in concern. "He's obviously having a panic attack, but, like I said, I think he may be reacting to the new drug he is taking too."

Clare closed her eyes wearily but forced out a reply, "Of course, CeCe. That's fine."

Noticing for the first time that the car was moving, Clare reached behind her one-handedly to grasp her seatbelt. She had to awkwardly adjust her body in order to get the belt around her and in between her body and Eli's. Once buckled, she thought briefly about trying to fasten Eli's seat belt as well. But, by this time, Eli had buried his face in her lap, his arms tightly wound around her legs. So she just said a brief prayer that CeCe would drive safely. Keeping one hand firmly on Eli's back and applying a comforting pressure, she ran the other hand through his hair softly.

From the front seat, CeCe continued to quietly berate herself for letting Eli get as bad as he had - her fear and helplessness spilling out unchecked.

Clare distractedly interjected comforting words when CeCe's tirade got particularly self-loathing. But mostly, Clare kept up her soothing ministrations, humming bits and pieces of tunes she knew Eli would recognize, as she watched the grey façade of downtown Toronto pass by. It was ironic really, Clare couldn't help thinking. More than a half a year after they had broken up because of Eli's suffocating dependency, Clare was still taking care of him – still trying to protect him from himself. And, she had to admit, it was wearing on her.

After what seemed like hours, but, in reality was only twenty minutes, CeCe pulled up to the entrance of the emergency room and put the car in park. She got out of the car quickly and carefully opened Clare's door.

Using a combination of soft persuasion and firm force, Clare managed to extract Eli from the car and walk him into the busy waiting room. While CeCe went to register Eli at the admissions desk, Clare scanned the room for a quiet spot.

The room was packed and the noise level jarring. The orange, plastic seats were almost all filled with the sick and hurt of Toronto. Pitiful moans and muffled cries from the waiting patients seemed to hang in a cloud above the assorted throng. A TV in the corner was blaring some inane talk show, trying to distract the pathetic crowd with its exaggerated volume.

Clare could feel Eli immediately start to tense up even more.

Catching CeCe's eye, Clare nodded to the hallway just beyond the waiting room and slowly walked Eli in that direction.

In the dimly lit hallway, the noise was dulled; its potency diluted. Tiredly Clare leaned her back against the wall and slowly sank down to the floor, bringing Eli with her. Once again, he fell against her – a warm, solid mass. Clare was beginning to grow accustomed to Eli's weight pressing on her body. He was starting to feel almost like an extension of herself.

"It shouldn't be long," CeCe said softly moments later, sinking down next to Eli and fondly rubbing his head. "I was right; they think it is a drug reaction. I called Bullfrog, and he's on his way."

After a few moments of silence, CeCe cleared her throat and turned to Clare, "Clare, I don't know what Eli would have done without you." Her voice was shaky and hoarse. "I just want you to know that we are so grateful to you. We're so grateful for everything that you've done -not just today, but before." Her voice cracked, as she looked at the broken boy in Clare's arms.

"God!" CeCe cried. "When I think about how difficult it's been for Bullfrog and me to handle Eli and his illness, I can't even imagine how hard it's been for you – how scary it's been." She closed her eyes, her face twisted in despair. "God damn it, Clare! You are just a kid! You both are just kids! It's so not fair that you have to deal with all of this shit!"

Clare took the hand she was using to smooth Eli's hair and reached across to softly touch CeCe's face, wiping the distraught woman's tears with the pad of her thumb. "It's OK," Clare whispered softly, hoping that, if she said it enough, she might believe it too.

"It's not," CeCe smiled tearfully, placing her hand over Clare's and holding it to her cheek. "It's so fucking not. But it is what it is."

"Elijah Goldsworthy," a middle aged nurse in turquois scrubs called from the doorway to the ER. "Elijah Goldsworthy."

Breathing deeply, Clare gathered her strength and hauled Eli up yet again.

…

They had been waiting for what seemed like hours. The nurse had led them to a tiny examination room in the back of the ER and, after a superficial examination of his vitals, had determined that, not only was Eli in the midst of a panic attack and, more than likely, a drug reaction, but he was also severely dehydrated. Eli had then been hooked up to an IV, Clare and CeCe covering his body in a desperate attempt to keep him from lashing out at the nurse when the needle was inserted.

Eli now lay shaking in Clare's lap, both of them stretched out on the examination table. CeCe, pulling a chair up close to the couple, held on to Eli's punctured arm to prevent him from ripping out the IV.

Exhausted, the three of them created a silently pathetic tableau – each holding on to one another in quiet desperation—waiting for the promised succor – hoping it would make a difference.

There was a sharp knock. Startled, CeCe and Clare looked towards the examination room door. Without waiting for an answer, door swung open, and Bullfrog lumbered in.

As soon as she saw her husband, CeCe released her grip on Eli's arm and threw herself into Bullfrog's embrace.

Clare, fearing the worst, placed her own hand on Eli's vacant arm, as she watched Bullfrog try to comfort his wife.

"Shhh, Babe. It's going to be fine," Bullfrog comforted, patting CeCe's back awkwardly. "The kid's tough. He's dealt with far worse than this."

"But look at him! How much more can he take?" CeCe cried. "How much more can we all take? I just want him to get better! I just don't want him to suffer any more!"

Clare felt her own eyes tearing up in the face CeCe's raw desperation over her child.

However, before Bullfrog could respond, the door opened again, and the doctor entered briskly.

"Mr. and Mrs. Goldsworthy?" he queried. "I'm Dr. Chang." The doctor briefly checked Eli's chart and glanced at CeCe's distraught face. "Why don't you tell me what is going on."

Tearfully, CeCe filled the doctor in on Eli's past history – the trauma in his life, his bipolar diagnosis, his struggle with medication. She let Dr. Chang know that Eli had recently switched medications and that he hadn't be eating or sleeping. She finished by describing the current panic attack, looking to Clare to help flesh out the details.

"Well, let's have a look," the doctor stated after CeCe's narrative came to a close. Lifting Eli's head gently out of Clare's lap, he examined Eli's eyes and mouth.

Eli whimpered anxiously but allowed himself to be manhandled, too exhausted to put up much of a fight.

The doctor checked Eli's heart rate, frowning in concern.

"He's definitely having a panic attack," the doctor stated, "the effects of which are exacerbated by his dehydration and the fact that he hasn't eaten. He also seems to be having an allergic reaction to his medication. From what you've told me, he's been taking this new drug for days on an empty stomach. It has built up dangerously in his blood stream causing this severe agitation and an aversion to outside stimuli." He looked thoughtfully at Eli's parents. "We can treat the dehydration with intravenous fluids, and I will order an anti-histamine to stop his body's reaction to the medication. However, we will either need to call his psychiatrist or he will have to submit to a psych consult here before I can prescribe any new mood stabilizer or antipsychotic drug."

"That's fine," CeCe breathed. "Just, please, do something."

The doctor nodded, "I'll send a nurse in with the anti-histamine. We will need to keep Eli here for a while under observation."

He turned to leave but paused at the door, "You know, it takes a while to learn to successfully manage a mental illness. Some medications that work wonders for some patients cause serious side effects in others. Some therapies work for some and are useless for others. It's going to take some time, Mr. and Mrs. Goldsworthy. Don't give up." Smiling sympathetically, he left.

The door closed with an ominous click, and, once more, silence descended- coating the room's occupants with a soft, numbing film. Feeling like she was intruding on a private, family moment, Clare began silently counting her breaths, focusing on the brief quiet between exhalation and inhalation – wishing she could crawl into that quiet and rest.

The door opened again, and the scrubs clad nurse who had put in Eli's IV returned with a small tube of medicine. She fitted a needle onto the end of the tube, and Clare steeled herself, thinking that Eli would have to endure yet another painful injection. However, instead, the nurse detached the IV from the bag of saline solution and depressed the medicine directly into Eli's IV tube. She then reattached the tube to the bag of fluids, smiled at the Goldsworthys, and left.

Within 30 seconds, Eli felt warmth invading his body. His painfully stiff muscles started to relax. The anxiety, tightly coiled in his chest and stomach, began to unwind. He opened his eyes cautiously, slowly focusing on the fabric that filled his gaze. It was soft and blue and warm. He stared at it curiously. It seemed to be moving back and forth in a rhythmic dance. It was strangely comforting.

In the distance, he could hear the voices of his parents quietly talking to each other. However, Eli was loath to leave the comfort of the blue fabric.

As the warmth continued to fill his body, he became aware of his hands. One was trapped in the grip of another's hand, held still on a flat surface. The other was tightly wrapped around something warm and soft. Tentatively, he moved this hand, smoothing it over the soft surface.

"Eli?" a voice questioned. It was a familiar voice, not his mother's but just as comforting.

With a great effort, he raised his head from the blue fabric, blinking in the harsh light. A pair of concerned, blue eyes looked down at him wearily.

"Shit!" he thought, lowering his head again. It was Clare. What the hell was he doing on Clare's lap? What was going on? He wracked his brain painfully, trying to remember, but a thick fog filled his mind, cloaking his memory.

"Eli?" He felt the hand gripping his own hand release and settle on his head. It started stroking his hair tenderly. "This has to be a dream," he thought to himself. There was no way Clare Edwards would be running her fingers through his hair.

He turned his head slowly and looked up again.

"Hey," Clare greeted him softly.

OK, so it wasn't a dream. He stared up at Clare blinking.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Eli opened his mouth to speak. "What happened?" he croaked, the words catching in his dry throat.

"Oh, Baby!" CeCe cried, throwing her arms around Eli in relief.

"Mom," Eli rasped, his head aching from CeCe's overzealous embrace.

"Hey, kiddo," Bullfrog called, putting his hand on Eli's leg. "It's good to have you back in the land of the living."

As much as he didn't want to, Eli carefully pushed himself up from Clare's lap, tentatively freeing himself from his mother's desperate death-grip. His head was spinning, as he leaned tiredly against the wall backing up to the examination table. Examination table? He must be in a hospital or a doctor's office. But how did he get here? He vaguely remembered being in a car.

Eli's throat was incredibly dry and raw. Looking at CeCe, he mouthed, "Water."

Wasting no time, CeCe ran to the nurses' station to get Eli a drink.

Looking at Clare confusedly, Eli tried again, "What happened?"

"You had a bad reaction to your medication," Clare explained. "You were severely dehydrated and that, along with the drug reaction, sent you into a pretty bad panic attack."

Suddenly, Eli remembered – walking in the rain, the book store, the oppressive heat, the blackness. He shuttered, and Clare put her hand comfortingly on his arm.

Before he could process Clare's loving gesture, CeCe came back with a large cup of water. Greedily, Eli drank, draining the cup in one gulp.

"I'll get some more," CeCe cried, happy to be doing something now that her boy was back.

"But how…?" Eli started. He swallowed nervously. "What are you doing here, Clare?"

"I found you," Clare stated. "At the bookstore. You were pretty bad, so I stayed with you and called your mom."

"Oh God!" Eli thought. "Oh God! Please not Clare." He was mortified that she had seen him struck down and humiliated by his illness yet again. The one person whom he most wanted to impress- to convince that he was OK- was the one who kept constantly seeing him at his worst.

"Thank God, Clare was there Eli," CeCe chimed in, having returned with another cup of water. "She was amazing. She was able to calm you down and get you here. I never would have been able to do it by myself. I'll tell you what -she's just a tiny thing, but she sure knows how to get you to move."

Suddenly, disjointed images flashed through Eli's mind – the suffocating panic, the overwhelming desperation clawing at him, threatening to swallow him whole. He remembered the hard floor of the bookstore—someone reaching out him – wrapping him in a warm embrace. He remembered a soft voice anchoring him- keeping him from being pulled down into the undertow of blackness. Clare.

Eli winced and tried to hide his embarrassment and shame by turning his attention to the cup of water. He gulped it down quickly.

Sighing, he turned to Clare, the white paper covering the examination table rustling in his movement. "I'm so sorry," he apologized hoarsely. "I'm sure that babysitting a basket case wasn't on your schedule of things to do today."

Clare looked at him, her eyes anxious and concerned, before shrugging her shoulders. "Not a problem, Eli. I really didn't have anything exciting planned. Besides, you know me and my love of community service," she teased with a shaky smile.

Bullfrog laughed, and Eli looked at Clare in amazement. She looked tired and beat up but so incredibly beautiful. And she was smiling at him. Clare Edwards was smiling at him.

Suddenly, Eli's stomach churned. He felt the two cups of water inexorably rising up his throat, threatening to choke him. Before he could even turn his head, a deluge of water and stomach acid came spilling out of his mouth and all over Clare's lap. He tried desperately, but he couldn't control his heaving stomach. It was like a scene from _The Exorcist_. All Eli needed was for his head to start spinning around to complete the homage. In fact, the attack of nausea was so violent that, when his retching finally subsided, Eli could only exhaustedly lean against Clare's chest and furiously fight to catch his breath.

Clare sat, eyes closed, focusing all of her energy on trying not to throw-up. She could feel the warm liquid pooling over her legs, soaking through her skirt and tights. She swallowed uncomfortably and tried not to think about what it was.

"Oh, hell, Clare," Bullfrog barked. "Did he just throw up on you?" He turned to his son trying to ease the awkward tension in the room with his own particular brand of humor. "Smooth, son! You certainly know how to charm the ladies. Anybody have any paper or a pen? I should take notes."

CeCe hit Bullfrog in the arm. "Oh, Eli, honey. Are you OK? Should I get a doctor?"

"Oh God," Eli cried, lifting his head from Clare's chest and looking down at the mess in her lap. "Oh fuck! Clare I'm so sorry." He frantically swiped at her vomit soaked lap, rubbing the noxious liquid in further in his effort.

Clare stilled his arm, trying not to breathe through her nose. "Eli! Eli!" she called. "It's fine. Just leave it."

Luckily, the nurse chose that moment to come and check on Eli. "So how is the patient doing?" she queried, before stopping and surveying the situation.

"Apparently, not so hot," she answered her own question, looking at Clare's lap. "Don't worry," she continued, patting Eli's arm soothingly. "It's a common reaction. Your stomach has had nothing but medication in it for far too long. It's going to take a while before you can keep things down." She smiled at him sympathetically, "But, other than that, how are you feeling, hon?"

Eli's face was completely red, his hand covered in his stomach's contents. "Well, considering that I just threw-up all over my ex-girlfriend- the same ex-girlfriend who just walked me through an incredibly humiliating panic attack, I'm just peachy," Eli paused to look at the nurse's name tag, "Ruth." He smirked sardonically, his face white and drawn. "How are you? You're looking well. Turquois is definitely your color."

"Ah hah," the nurse smiled, looking at CeCe and Bullfrog. "I know they are on the road to recovery when they regain their smart-assedness."

She turned to Clare, "Honey, why don't you come with me. I'm sure I can find you an extra pair of scrubs somewhere."

Giving a sympathetic look to a red-faced Eli, Clare jumped down from the examination table and tried not to think about the warm liquid dripping down her legs as she followed the nurse.

Eli groaned when the door closed. "Fuck my life," he grumbled, stoically allowing CeCe to clean up his hands with a wet paper towel. "Can't I ever catch a break? Is it too much to ask to not completely fall apart every time I see Clare?"

"Son, it's not as bad as it seems," Bullfrog tried to comfort, holding back a laugh. "Although, did you see her face when you puked on her? That was some quality projectile vomiting, kid. That poor girl!"

"Oh hush, Bullfrog," CeCe chastised. "Eli, I'm sure Clare is fine. Honey, she is about the strongest girl I know. You should have seen her today. She was the one keeping me calm – handling the situation like a pro. Any girl who can take you through a panic attack like the one you just had can surely handle a little vomit."

"Guys," Eli cried wearily. "You are not making me feel any better."

"Seriously, Honey," CeCe broke in, concern coloring her voice. "How are you feeling? We've been so worried, Baby. You were so out of it. You've been out of it for so long."

"I'm exhausted," Eli admitted, closing his eyes. "My throat hurts; my head is pounding. I feel like I was just run over by a semi-truck. I'm embarrassed as all hell. But," he paused to look at his parents, "for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin."

"That's good, Baby Boy," CeCe smiled. She reached down to touch his face. "We'll get all that bad shit out of your system, and I'll see if Dr. Roberts can come here and see you tomorrow. We will find a medication that works for you, Eli. The doctor says it will just take a little time."

"Whatever," Eli said tiredly, laying his head down on the paper-clad table, eyes closed. He shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms for warmth.

CeCe took off her jacket and laid it over her son, smoothing down his hair with her hand. She started softly humming "Enter Sandman" by Metallica, one of Eli's favorite "lullabies" when he was little. Eli rolled his eyes at her hokey maternal gesture, but it wasn't long before the exhausted boy fell into a fitful sleep.

When Clare returned, decked out in her own stylish pair of turquois scrubs, her discarded clothes wrapped in a medical waste bag, Eli was softly snoring.

Stifling a laugh at Clare's ensemble, Bullfrog rose from his orange, plastic seat. "Come on, kiddo," he said to Clare, putting his arm around her. "Let me take you home."

Smiling at Bullfrog in acknowledgement, Clare detangled herself from Bullfrog's arm and walked over to CeCe. She put her hand on the older woman's shoulder. "Are you OK?"

CeCe smiled up at Clare. "I'm fine, Sweetie," she replied. "Thank you so much for everything. You really are amazing, you know?"

"Not amazing," Clare corrected tiredly, "just me." She sighed wearily. "Listen, do you think that they will keep him overnight?"

"Probably," CeCe replied. "They want him to see a psychiatrist before releasing him."

"Well, if he's still here tomorrow, I'll stop by for a quick visit," Clare offered, smiling tentatively.

"He'll love that, Baby," CeCe smiled. She put her hand on Clare's cheek in a soft caress, before turning her attention back to Eli.

Taking one last look at the battered boy, Clare turned to follow Bullfrog out of the door.

The ride to Clare's house was strangely silent. Previously, when Clare and Eli had dated, anytime Clare had spent time with Bullfrog, he usually kept up a running commentary – joking, singing, and trying his best to embarrass Clare. But tonight he was unusually quiet, turning on a soft, classic rock station on the stereo.

Thankful that she didn't have to keep up the pretense of being in control, Clare sank back into the leather car seat and allowed her eyes to drift close. Before she knew it, Bullfrog was gently shaking her awake.

"Clarabelle. Hey, Clare. We're here."

"Oh, sorry, Bullfrog," Clare apologized embarrassed, sitting up in her seat and gathering her things.

"Hey, don't be sorry," Bullfrog grinned. "You've had a hard day. You, of all people, deserve a little shut eye." He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to go in with you – explain to your mom what happened?"

"Thanks, Bullfrog, but I don't think that's necessary," Clare smiled. "Get back to your family; that's where you're needed most." She opened the car door and was halfway out, when Bullfrog grasped her wrist. She paused and turned back to him.

"Clare," Bullfrog said in a hoarse voice. "Listen, I just want you know that we really appreciate all you've done for the kid."

"Bullfrog .." Clare broke in.

"No, listen, Clare. I know how hard this is. Believe me, I know. I just want you know that… we think you're pretty damn awesome—uh…excuse my French."

"Thanks, Bullfrog," Clare smiled tiredly. Slipping her hand from Bullfrog's grasp, she slid out of the car.

Clare stood silently on the sidewalk next to her house, waving half-heartedly at the retreating tail lights of Bullfrog's car.

Yawning, she fished in her purse for her house key. It was only eleven, but her house was strangely dark. Jake was probably out with his friends, but Glen and her mother should still be awake.

She quietly opened the door and tiptoed into the foyer.

"Clare?" Glen was sitting in the living room, a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Hey, Glen," Clare replied tiredly.

"Clare," Glen's voice was a little more agitated than Clare had ever heard it before. "Where have you been? Your mother has been worried sick." He ran his hand through his hair, uncomfortable at the role he had been forced to assume in the absence of Clare's biological father. "You leave in the morning and don't come home until eleven at night? Not even a phone call to say where you are? Your mom's been pacing the floor since five."

He breathed out an exasperated sigh and continued, a definite edge to his voice. "I finally convinced her to take a sleeping pill at ten and told her I'd wait up for you. I was just about ready to go out and canvas the neighborhood."

"I'm sorry I didn't call," Clare croaked apologetically. "It's been a very long day." She sank onto the couch, exhaustingly retelling the day's events.

Glen listened attentively, his eyes widening at Clare's tale.

When Clare finished her narrative, silence filled the room. Glen sat in his recliner, not saying anything- just looking pointedly at Clare.

Silently, Clare waited a few minutes for him to respond. Was he angry? Upset? Mollified by her explanation? Clare didn't know Glen well enough to know how to gauge his reactions.

"Well," Clare said uncomfortably, realizing that maybe Glen wasn't going to say anything. "I'm pretty beat. If you don't mind, I'm going to hit it."

Tiredly, she rose from the couch to make her way up to her bed. But, before she could go far, Glen stood and stopped her. Tilting her face up to the lamp's light, he traced the faint red mark that ran along her cheek bone. "What happened here, Clare?" he questioned.

"Oh, I got in the way of Eli's fist when he was in the middle of his panic attack," Clare said dismissively. "It's nothing."

Glen's face took on a strange look. He shook his head in disbelief. "Clare, what you went through today – what you've been going through this past year – it's not nothing."

Clare closed her eyes and felt herself tear up. Clearing her throat in an attempt to hold it together, she joked, "Well, what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger, right?"

"Oh, Clare," Glen said softly, brushing her hair out of her face. "You don't always have to be so strong, you know. It's OK not to be the strong one, for once in your life."

In the face of Glen's blatant compassion, Clare lost it. Her tightly composed facade crumpled. Hot tears spilled from her eyes. She put her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the ragged sobs that were threatening to rip from her heaving chest.

Glen simply put his arms around her, bringing her back down to the couch and resting her head against his chest. He stroked her hair, as she sobbed into his shoulder.

In the midst of her sorrow and exhaustion, Clare couldn't help but think how good it felt to be comforted - how good it felt to let someone else take charge. She allowed her mind to drift back to another memory – to another strong pair of arms – to another broad chest. She remembered her own father comforting her when she was eight years old and had just buried her cat, Snowbell.

Burrowing her face deeper in Glen's flannel shirt, Clare allowed herself to cry – to cry for the distraught eight year old who had not only lost her pet but who would, for all intents and purposes, lose her father and her sister just a few years later – to cry for the scared and damaged boy sleeping fitfully in a hospital bed – to cry for that boy's mother and father who desperately loved their son and had to watch helplessly as he dealt with a darkness that he shouldn't have to deal with – to cry for a relationship that had never even had a chance.

Taking refuge in Glen's arms, Clare finally dropped all of her carefully armed defenses and allowed herself to let go – allowed herself to feel the emotions that she had been repressing for so long.

What Clare didn't know was that - across the city, in a dingy hospital room that smelled vaguely of disinfectant and urine - a scared and exhausted boy was doing the same thing in his own mother's arms.


	3. You've Got to Hide Your Love Away

**After the Storm **

**Chapter 3**

**You've Got to Hide Your Love Away**

**What? Two updates in one week? Either hell has frozen over or someone is currently on winter break. ; )**

**Thanks again for all of your support and encouragement. It is greatly appreciated.**

**This chapter is dedicated to one of my very favorite bands, The Beatles. In my humble opinion, their song "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away" is the perfect theme song for Eli post car crash. If you haven't heard this song, drop everything you're doing and listen to it. You won't be sorry.**

**I ****do not own **_**Degrassi. **_**I also do not own**_** Ozzfest **_**or**** the amazingly brutal movie **_**Apocalypse Now**_**.**

…

Eli distractedly flipped through the channels on the hospital television set, barely paying attention to the daytime talk programs and game shows that flashed across the screen in all of their exaggerated, multicolored glory. He was bored out of his freaking skull.

After a fitful night of sleep in the cramped, hospital bed, Eli had woken up to a full panel of humiliating tests and a serious powwow with both his psychiatrist and Dr. Chang. In light of Eli's severe reaction to his previous medication, both doctors thought it wise to start Eli on a low dosage of a new mood stabilizer coupled with a fairly mild anti-anxiety medication. They were being cautious and keeping Eli under observation for the rest of the day. If he passed their scrutiny, he could go home that night. However, school was out of the equation, at least, for a couple of days. As Dr. Roberts authoritatively told CeCe, Eli's stress level must be kept as low as possible this next week.

Following her own neurotic interpretation of Dr. Roberts' instructions, CeCe had firmly attached herself to Eli's hip. She had stayed with Eli all night, uncomfortably sharing his tiny hospital bed; and she had been with him all that morning, waiting on him hand and foot and attending to his every need. When Eli had to physically stop her from following him into the bathroom, he knew that he had to come up with a plan to get CeCe out of his hospital room, at least, temporarily.

Bullfrog had been no help. Surrendering good naturedly, Bullfrog had left to go to work when it became clear he was completely superfluous to CeCe's "De-stress Eli" plan. Sensing the opportunity, Eli had tried to convince his mother to go too, but she had only embraced him fiercely in response. In fact, it was only after Eli had tried to choke down a portion of the gray, gelatinous substance the hospital called food - gagging in desperation - that CeCe had finally left him alone, rushing out to pick up a sandwich and a cup of soup from his favorite deli. Amazingly, Eli had convinced her to go home for a shower and a change of clothes as well, assuring her that he would just nap and watch TV in her absence.

Unfortunately, daytime TV sucked ass, and Eli was much too wound up to sleep.

Not that he was complaining. He definitely felt better than he had felt in months. He was still a bit distracted and antsy. However, he didn't feel completely out of control. And, unlike yesterday afternoon, he certainly didn't feel like he was about to die. In fact, he felt pretty good- just a highly caffeinated version of good. But then maybe this new, amped-up Eli was going to be the normal state of being for a while.

Turning off the TV, Eli distractedly scrolled through his phone in boredom. He thought about calling Adam; however, he really didn't want to alert any of his friends to his most recent break-down. He already had the reputation of resident school psycho - why make it any worse? It was bad enough that Clare had been there to witness his latest episode.

"Holy shit, Clare Edwards," Eli thought, shaking his head in disbelief. He still couldn't believe that she had been with him just last night. She had been so nice to him – holding him, comforting him, smiling at him. He blushed, thinking about all the time he had spent in her lap, hanging on to her for dear life. Ironically, he had probably "gotten farther" in the midst of yesterday's panic attack than he had ever gotten when the two of them were dating. Try as he might, he couldn't keep himself from smiling, as he thought about how he had buried his face in her chest – in her chest, for fuck's sake- taking refuge from the outside world. But then, in typical, Eli fashion, he had to go and ruin everything by throwing up on her! He had meant to apologize further for his embarrassing loss of control. However, according to CeCe, when Clare had returned from cleaning herself up, Eli had been fast asleep. Yep, he had puked all over her and then, like the gentleman he was, he had fallen asleep.

"Oh well," Eli thought disparagingly. Clare probably couldn't wait to get the hell out of Dodge anyway - get the hell away from Crazy Town and back to her nice, normal life. The poor girl was always dealing with his drama – always picking up his messes both figuratively and literally. In fact, Eli really wouldn't blame her if she never wanted anything to do with him again.

Yet yesterday she seemed so concerned about him; she didn't seem afraid of him at all. It was a nice change - to see concern in Clare's eyes instead of the panicked look of a trapped animal. Smiling, Eli closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in contemplation – remembering Clare's smile, her soft touches, her warm body.

"Daydreaming about me again?" the thick, throaty voice jolted Eli from his pleasant reverie. A large woman with bleached blond hair and bright pink scrubs entered the room, a chart in her hand.

"You know it, Pam," Eli replied with a smirk, trying to play off his embarrassment by defaulting to his number one defense mechanism - flirting.

Pam had been his nurse since the shift switch earlier that morning. She had immediately taken a liking to the Goldsworthys as soon as she saw Bullfrog's vintage Social Distortion T- shirt. She and CeCe had even discovered that they had attended the same _Ozzfest_ back in 2000; both agreeing that Ozzy had been a little off his game that day – slurring the lyrics even more than he usually did.

Chuckling at the red splotches marking his face, Pam approached Eli with a blood pressure cuff.

"Arm."

"You're so demanding," Eli teased, stretching out his arm for her. "Your poor husband."

"Shoot, boy, that man is lucky to have me," Pam replied. "If it weren't for me, he'd be completely lost." She wrote down Eli's numbers in his chart. "What about you, rock star? You got a girlfriend at home or," she paused looking him over curiously, "a boyfriend?"

"Geeze, Pam," Eli laughed. "Just because my hair is a little long, and I color my fingernails. Way to stereotype."

"Well, you never know, in this day and age, honey. I've got to cover all the bases. So, a girlfriend is it?"

"Um.." Eli stalled. "Well, actually, no … not at the moment."

"Ah, but there is someone," Pam said knowingly. "I know that lovesick look. I see it on my husband's face every time I come home with pizza."

"Things are just a bit … complicated right now," Eli replied uncomfortably. He sighed dramatically. "Believe it or not, mental illness and panic attacks are not big with the ladies these days." He tried to laugh it off but stopped when he saw the nurse's concerned expression.

"Don't worry, honey," Pam replied, patting Eli's hand sympathetically. "You'll get it all together soon; and then there will be no stopping you. You'll have to beat those girls off with a stick."

"Beat what girls off with a stick?" a voice questioned from the door of Eli's hospital room.

Startled, Eli looked up to meet the shyly smiling gaze of Clare Edwards.

"Clare," he cried, running a hand nervously through his hair, his face turning red. "Uh …there's no beating happening here," he stuttered, holding his hands up in surrender. "Um…. no girls either, uh… present company excluded." He gestured to the nurse. "Pam, here, was just teasing." He looked frantically to Pam who was smiling shrewdly.

Pam glanced at Clare knowingly and then winked at Eli, before gathering her things to go.

"Well, Eli," Pam drawled. "I'll leave you alone with your visitor. Just ring if you need anything – water, a blanket, a stick..." Laughing she exited the room, closing the door behind her.

"What was that about?" Clare asked curiously, removing her coat and draping it over one of the visitor's chairs.

"Um… nothing," Eli said flustered. He paused, staring at the girl in disbelief, silently taking in her appearance. Clare was wearing a demure, navy blue dress, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail by a black, velvet ribbon. Her gold cross stood out sharply against the pale whiteness of her skin. She must have just come from mass.

Eli inhaled nervously. "What are you doing here, Clare?"

"Oh," Clare looked suddenly uncomfortable. She gazed around the room trying to avoid eye contact with Eli. "Well, I told your mom I'd stop by to see how you were doing. I'm sorry if I'm overstepping or something." She gestured to the door. "I can go."

"No, no," Eli cried anxiously. "I'm glad you are here. It gives me the opportunity to apologize again for yesterday – for the panic attack and…. all the crying and…..you know, the vomit and everything. I'm so, so sorry." His face was bright red.

"Eli," Clare interjected, smiling sadly. "I didn't come for an apology. I'm glad I was there. I'm glad I could help."

She looked at him, sincerity coloring her expression. "How are you feeling today? You look a lot better."

"I feel a lot better," Eli admitted. "I'm definitely not 100 percent, but just getting that medication out of my system has made a huge difference. I don't feel like I want to crawl out of my skin anymore." He paused, wondering how much he should share; he didn't want to scare her off again. But then, yesterday, Clare had seen him at his very worst, and she was still here.

"My doctors started me on a new mood stabilizer today. Hopefully, this one will do the trick, or, at the very least, not make me re-enact the breakdown scene from _Apocalypse Now_."

Clare laughed. "At least you kept all of your clothes on at the bookstore; and you didn't punch any mirrors that I know of." She smiled at him fondly.

"That's… a good thing," Eli stuttered, "um…very good." Try as he might, he couldn't control the nervous energy flooding through his veins in reaction to her smile.

The room became uncomfortably quiet.

"Say something, you idiot," Eli thought to himself disparagingly.

"So, how are you?" he finally offered.

"Fine," Clare replied awkwardly. "Good as can be expected."

"How's the family life?" The family life? Why the hell would he ask that? Was he, all of a sudden, channeling his Great Aunt Dolores?

Clare's face became instantly guarded. "It's good," she said with a tight smile, glancing uncomfortably around the room.

"How's Jake?" Eli asked, a bitter taste filling his mouth at the thought of Clare's ex who was now her step-brother. Hell, why did he ask her that? It's not like he cared about Jake.

"Fine. Jake's fine," Clare said tersely. "I really don't see him all that much."

"But you live with him," Eli countered. He didn't know why he was pushing so hard. Clare was obviously uneasy with this line of questioning. However, try as he might, Eli couldn't stop himself. Perhaps verbal diarrhea was one of the side effects of this new mood stabilizer.

"Let's just say that Jake and I try to avoid each other as much as possible," Clare said carefully, looking down at her hands. Eli could see the flush of emotion creeping up her neck and face. He knew that she was trying desperately to hold herself in check.

"Clare, I'm sorry," Eli apologized. "It's really none of my business." He paused before nervously adding, "It must really suck to be related to someone you used to date." What the fuck? Why couldn't he just shut up? At this rate, he might as well open the little, paper container of salt that had come with his hospital lunch and rub it into Clare's wounds.

"It's fine, Eli," Clare said shortly, gaining control of her emotions with effort. "Everything's fine. My family is fine. I'm fine. Jake's fine. Apparently, you're fine." She shook her head in annoyance. "Isn't it great that we're all so fine?"

"Clare," Eli soothed. Without thinking it through, he leaned forward and grabbed her hand, bringing her closer.

She seemed startled by his action but allowed herself to be pulled towards Eli's hospital bed, taking a tentative seat on the edge of the mattress.

Eli didn't know what to do when he got her close. Should he hug her? Would that be taking things too far? Would she freak out? He felt a cold sweat break out over his forehead, as he contemplated his next move.

Suddenly, Eli stopped his frenzied thoughts. Leaning in closer, he examined Clare's face curiously, noticing, for the first time, an angry bruise just below her eye. Immediately, he thought back to his previous panic attacks when he had lashed out at people trying to help. Oh fuck, no.

"Did I do that to you?" he whispered hoarsely. He traced the black and blue mark on her cheekbone with one finger, his touch feather light.

"Yeah," Clare breathed, before pulling back slightly and emitting an awkward laugh. "Apparently your right hook has greatly improved since your days of rumbling with Fitz. Have you been taking lessons from Drew? Any cage fighting I should know about?"

Eli winced at both the mention of Fitz and at Clare's confirmation that he had hit her. Shit! It totally figured. Not only had he thrown-up all over Clare, but he had hit her too. Not only was he pathetically disgusting and certifiably crazy, but he was also violent. He had actually hit a girl. Eli Goldsworthy had hit a girl - and not just any girl; he had hit Clare Edwards.

"Damn, Clare," he breathed. "I can't believe I hurt you. I would never… I mean… I wasn't in my right mind. I'm just so … sorry." Disgusted, he started to shake. He could feel his heart pounding and his chest tightening.

"Stop, Eli," Clare said, putting her hand over his shaking ones. "I know you weren't yourself yesterday. I didn't take it personally." She smiled at him reassuringly, her own awkwardness forgotten. "You forget, I've witnessed a few panic attacks in my day. This was not my first rodeo, by any means."

"Still," Eli whispered, "there's no excuse for this. I can't believe I hit you."

"I'm fine!" Clare cried emphatically. "Didn't you listen the first time? Must I go through the whole thing all over again?" Clare said forcefully, trying to assuage Eli's guilt with humor. "I'm fine. Jake's fine. You're …"

"OK, I believe you," Eli interjected with a shaky smile. "You are totally fine … Rocky."

"Hey!" Clare protested, running her finger over the black and blue mark. "It's not that bad. Besides, I think that it makes me look dangerous."

"Oh yeah, dangerous," Eli teased. "You are such a badass, Edwards."

"Shut up," Clare huffed, crossing her arms. All of a sudden, she realized that she was sitting very close to Eli on his hospital bed. She glanced at him briefly and nervously bit her lip, uncomfortable at the close proximity. She shifted awkwardly on the bed, her heart rate becoming slightly erratic.

Eli looked at her, his eyes alight with some unreadable emotion. He watched as a light blush infused the skin of her cheeks – watched as her white teeth bit down on her bottom lip in an uneasy gesture – watched as she shifted her body, unintentionally pressing up against his hip. She was so close that he could smell her perfume – the light, citrusy smell invading his senses, effectively shutting down the rational part of his brain. God! All he would have to do was lean forward just a little bit and …

"I've got lunch!" Freshly showed and wearing a low cut, black T-shirt and a leather jacket, CeCe pushed through the hospital room door, a brown paper bag in her hand. She stopped, surveying the seemingly intimate scene she had walked in on. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked slyly.

Immediately Clare jumped up from the bed and retreated a few paces. "No," Clare explained, her voice high. "I was just convincing Eli that he really didn't hit me all that hard yesterday." She shook her head trying to break the intimacy of the previous moment with humor. "I won't be pressing charges," she glanced at Eli and attempted a wicked grin, "this time."

"Oh, Sweetie," CeCe called in concern. "I didn't even notice your shiner. Did Eli do that to you yesterday?"

"Yes," Clare replied, "but I'm totally…"

"She's fine," Eli said with a smirk.

"Well, good," CeCe smiled, moving the hospital table over to Eli's bed. "I got you a turkey club, Baby," she said pulling out a saran wrapped sandwich, "and a cup of minestrone."

"Thanks, Mom," Eli said. "It looks great."

"Now, remember to take it slow," CeCe cautioned. "We don't want you throwing-up all over Clare again."

"Yeah, we definitely don't want that," Clare teased, surveying Eli's mortified face. She distractedly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as Eli glanced at his sandwich.

"Well, I should probably go and leave you to your lunch."

"Oh, Honey, don't go just because I'm here," CeCe pleaded. "I know that Eli loves having you visit. He's really missed having you around, you know. We all have."

"Mom!" Eli groaned, embarrassed.

"What? It's true," CeCe defended.

Clare bit back a laugh. "Thanks, CeCe. But I probably should be getting home. I have a massive amount of homework to finish before tomorrow." She turned to Eli, "Please tell me that year 12 is easier than year 11."

"Um…" Eli felt his face flushing. "Well, … uh … I'm probably the wrong person to ask about that," he stuttered, "since I seem to be currently sucking in all of my classes."

Clare looked at him, confusion coloring her features. "Are you serious?" she asked in disbelief.

"Well, lately, my life's been a little crazy – and I mean that in the literal sense," Eli tried to joke. "I just haven't really been able to concentrate. And now I'm so far behind. And it's only going to get worse, since my doctor wants me to stay home from school this week." Eli shook his head, his face red in embarrassment.

Clare looked at him in astonishment. Before she could even process it, she heard herself asking, "Do you want me to get your homework for this week and drop it by your house?"

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Eli argued. "I'm sure you have enough going on in your life without adding all of my crap." Son of a bitch! Was Clare Edwards actually offering to come by his house- voluntarily? What was going on here?

"I don't mind," she asserted, ignoring the little voice of conscience that warned her against getting involved in anything having to do with Eli Goldsworthy.

"That's a wonderful idea!" CeCe chimed in. "Thank you so much, Clare. I know that Eli would really appreciate it."

Still shocked, Eli nodded dumbly.

"It's really no problem," Clare replied.

Suddenly nervous, she picked up her coat and shrugged it on.

"Well, I'm glad you are feeling better, Eli," Clare said awkwardly. She glanced towards the door.

"Thanks," Eli said, inexplicably anxious at the thought of Clare's departure. "When… um … when do you think you will stop by? …with the homework, I mean?"

"Well, I'll ask your teachers for the work on Monday, but I should probably give them some time to get a whole week's worth of work together. So, maybe Tuesday or Wednesday?"

"Sounds good," Eli said, exhaling.

"OK. Good. Then I'll see you then," Clare confirmed in a somewhat shaky voice. "Bye, CeCe."

"Oh, Baby Girl," CeCe wrapped Clare in a tight embrace. "Thanks so much for everything."

Blushing, Eli rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, as he watched his mother's overly affectionate sendoff of his ex-girlfriend.

Detangling herself from CeCe's arms, Clare flashed a hesitant smile at Eli. She gave him a small wave. "Bye, Eli. Enjoy your lunch."

"Bye, Clare. Thanks again."

Walking out of the hospital into the cold, grey, air, Clare berated herself critically. She was doing it again. No matter how many times she promised herself that she would steer clear of Eli, she always ended up getting pulled back into his orbit. Today, she had had the perfect opportunity to extract herself. She could have checked to make sure Eli was OK and then left, promising vaguely to see him at school. But no, like the masochistic idiot that she was, she had to offer to bring his work to him. She was just so taken aback by the fact that he was struggling so much his classes. The boy was brilliant. He shouldn't be struggling academically.

Besides, she reminded herself, she had only offered to bring him his work. She was under no obligation to stay and visit or, God forbid, to try to reestablish a friendship with him. She could just drop the work off and be on her way. Yes, that's what she would do. She would simply drop off his work and go back to her own life – back to her own problems. Eli was right; she had enough going on in her life right now without adding all of his drama to the mix.

Resolute in her decision, Clare started the long, cold walk to the bus stop. However, in the back of her mind, she knew that breaking out of Eli's orbit was a feat much easier said than done.


	4. My Doorbell

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 4: My Doorbell**

**The White Stripes rule! Listen to "My Doorbell," if you don't believe me.**

**I do not own **_**Degrassi**_**, **_**Sesame Street**_**, or Superman. I also do not own **_**Batman**_**, the movie or the awesomely chiropterous superhero. **

**Thanks for the sweet reviews!**

…

"Dude! Shoot them, for fuck's sake! Come on man! I feel like I'm fighting these guys by myself." Adam screamed at Eli, as the next wave of zombies pooled around them, their bloody, rotting maws gaping. Suddenly, the screen was filled with blood spatter- the pixilated, red fluid obscuring the action and bringing the game to a premature and violent end.

"Seriously?" Adam turned to Eli, a look of disbelief on his face. "My grandma plays better than you do, and she just had cataract surgery."

"Shut up!" Eli grumbled in frustration, throwing down the controller. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "You know I'm not completely running on all engines yet. I just got home from the hospital two days ago, for God's sake."

"Whatever," Adam smirked rolling his eyes. "What's your excuse for your crap video game skills the rest of the time?" He ducked to avoid the paperback book Eli lobbed at his head.

"Dude, if there is ever a zombie apocalypse, my money is definitely not on you," Adam mocked, shaking his head.

Eli grinned and flipped him off, collapsing backwards onto his bed. He and Adam had been playing video games for the past two hours, and Eli's brain was buzzing. Although his new medication was a definite improvement over his last one, Eli still had trouble focusing for extended periods of time. Currently, he could feel the restless energy coursing through his blood stream like a freight train, speeding up his heart and setting his nerves on overload. He closed his eyes briefly and willed himself to relax, inhaling deeply and concentrating on slowing his racing pulse.

"Hey, do you think that Bullfrog would let me look at his music library?" Adam asked suddenly from his perch on the floor of Eli's bedroom, jarring Eli from his meditative reverie. "Dave and I are talking about doing a classic rock week on the radio show, and I'd love to get some ideas."

"Dude, he'd love it," Eli replied, exhaling noisily and leaning up on his elbow. "Just make sure you have a few days free to listen to him drone on about how Guns N' Roses single-handedly saved the 80's hard rock scene and how Eddie Van Halen is actually the messiah in striped, spandex pants."

"Sounds awesome!" Adam said enthusiastically, miming a head bang. "Your parents are so cool, man. Seriously, how did you luck out so much?"

"Guess it's a trade off," Eli joked sardonically. "Cool parents – check; sanity – not so much."

"Eli," Adam admonished uncomfortably.

"What?" Eli argued. "It's true."

Adam adjusted the collar of his shirt awkwardly, as an uneasy silence descended. The room seemed suddenly hot - the air oppressive. Thus far, the two boys had avoided any deep conversations about Eli's recent hospital stay and subsequent "vacation" from classes.

Coming over after his own school day was over, Adam had not known how to broach the subject of Eli's recent "setback." He just didn't know what to say –- his standard, "it'll get better" seeming trite and stupid even to an eternal optimist such as himself. Thus, not wanting to set Eli off, Adam had chosen to act like everything was normal - falling into his well-rehearsed role as "sarcastic video game kid." However, based on the shift in the room's atmosphere, it seemed that Eli had had enough of the pretense and had finally decided to "go there."

Eli cleared his throat roughly, shattering the silence. "Man, Adam, you should have seen this last attack," Eli offered in a pained voice, his eyes glassy and red. "It made my freak out during _Love Roulette_ look like an episode of _Sesame Street_." He blew his breath out in exasperation and shame. "It was bad, man –- really bad."

Adam played with the edge of his polo nervously. "Good thing Clare was there," he offered, not knowing what else to say.

"Oh, yeah –- it was a real good thing," Eli replied sarcastically, sitting up on his bed in annoyance. "Clare is JUST the person I want to see when I'm at my worst - because, you know, I don't think I scared her enough when I crashed my car for her or yelled at her for sabotaging our relationship or had drugs planted in her locker."

Adam winced at Eli's angry tone. He never knew how to handle angry Eli. Sarcastic Eli; smartass Eli; indignant Eli; even stupid, romantic Eli Adam could navigate. But angry Eli - intense Eli -self-loathing Eli was a different story entirely.

"Eli, dude. Calm down. I'm sure Clare handled your panic attack just fine. It is Clare, after all," Adam soothed, his face tight with worry.

Eli ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He turned to Adam. "Do you know I hit her?" he spat out bitterly, watching as Adam's face paled. "Yep. I hit Clare Edwards. There she was, trying to fucking save me from myself –- again! - and I go and cold cock her."

Eli's words seemed to hang in the air over the quiet room - the atmosphere around the two boys thickening with tension. Unaware of his movements, Eli began rocking back and forth in agitation.

"You cold cocked her?" Adam whispered shocked. "Holy shit, Eli!"

"Well, I don't think I knocked her out. But she was sporting a pretty decent shiner the next day," Eli admitted miserably, grabbing his hair by the roots.

"Eli, it wasn't your fault," Adam offered sympathetically, getting up from his spot on the floor and cautiously sitting next to Eli on the bed. "I'm sure Clare understands. She knows what you've been going through. You can't beat yourself up for this."

"No," Eli huffed bitterly, "why beat myself up when I can beat up Clare?"

"Eli!"

Eli shook his head in defeat. "It sucks, Adam, you know? No matter what I do, I just end up hurting her." His voice cracked. "I try so hard –- so goddamned hard - but I keep hurting her."

He looked up at Adam, his eyes red. "Do you know how horrible it is to see the look of fear in her eyes –- the look of pity?" His hands, balled into fits on his lap, began to shake. "She used to look at me like I was the most important thing in her world and now… it's like…she doesn't even see me anymore. She just sees some person who needs help –- some crazy, charity case… I just…fuck!" he broke off in exasperation.

"Eli, dude," Adam interjected, putting a calming hand on Eli's arm. Looking at the miserable boy awash in self-loathing, Adam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Look, you know that I care about you both. You and Clare are my best friends." Adam paused nervously, swallowing his fear. He didn't know if this was the right moment, but he had to try. "Listen, man, I'm not saying this to make you feel any worse than you are already feeling but..."

At Adam's resolute tone, Eli looked up suspiciously, his eyes cold.

Stalling, Adam cleared his throat. "Uh … well, you see…Eli … dude, as much as I hate to say it … I really think it's time for you to…uh…. close the chapter on you and Clare."

Eli's eyes narrowed, and he abruptly shook Adam's hand off of his arm.

Jumping off the bed, Adam began to pace, figuring that since he was dealing with unpredictable, angry Eli, it would be best to stay out of striking range.

"Just hear me out," Adam continued, throwing up his hand, as if to ward off Eli's ire. "You and Clare had something really special –- I mean really special. But it didn't work out, Eli." Adam glanced nervously at Eli, trying to gauge his reaction. "It sucks, man, but that's life for you."

Finding his stride, Adam's voice took on a more confident tone. "Eli, you've said it over and over again - you are not good for Clare. My God, look at what she's had to go through this past year with you! I'm not going to rehash it all because my purpose isn't to make you feel bad, but, dude, the poor girl has been through so much. It's not fair to her—you know it's not fair to her."

Adam stopped and locked eyes with Eli. "And, honestly, I don't think Clare's good for you either."

Shaking his head angrily, Eli started to protest, but Adam cut him off.

"When you are with her –- hell, even when you are not with her, you are always thinking about her; pining over her; worrying about her. Eli, you are totally obsessed with Clare, and the two of you are not even together anymore." Adam's voice rose emphatically, his voice reaching a pitch higher than he normally liked. "Seriously, man, the only person you should be obsessively worrying about right now is yourself." His tone became almost pleading. "You need to focus on getting better, and you can't do that if you are always thinking about Clare –- hoping to see her- wondering what she thinks about you - beating yourself up about her."

Pausing, he sat back down on the bed and looked at Eli tentatively. "Look, I'm glad Clare was there to help you through this last panic attack but, dude, don't take her help as an invitation to start something up again. Don't start obsessing over her again. It's time to let her go, Eli - once and for all."

Eli looked at Adam in silence, his face guarded, his eyes narrowed coldly.

Adam swallowed uneasily, but maintained eye contact in the silent stand-off. He had finally said it –- finally said what had been hanging unacknowledged between the two friends since Eli had driven his hearse into that goddamned wall. And as he nervously held Eli's ferociously icy gaze, Adam just hoped that their friendship could survive a bit of impromptu honesty.

Finally, after what seemed to Adam like an eternity, Eli broke the silence.

"Clare offered to bring me my work from this week," he muttered gruffly, an undercurrent of triumph marking his words. Looking squarely at Adam, Eli's face took on a calculating look, his smug smirk firmly in place. "In fact, I'm expecting her to drop by any time now."

"Shit, Eli!" Adam cried in exasperation. "If you needed your work, you should have called me!"

He stood up and started pacing the room again, waving his arms frantically. "You just can't leave her alone, can you? What's it going to take for both of you to finally realize that this thing you have is not a good thing?"

Adam spun around and glared at Eli, all his previous trepidation forgotten. "She is not good for you right now, Eli! And you are certainly not good for her!" He shook his head in anger and frustration. "Shit, man, do you know how hard it is to sit by and watch my two best friends destroy each other? I thought it was bad when you two weren't speaking. But this is a million times worse." He pressed his lips together in a tight grimace.

"So which one of you is going to end up broken this time, huh?" he huffed angrily. "Who am I going to have to scrape off of the floor when everything blows up yet again? Should I take bets? Maybe we should sell tickets—make some money from all this fucking drama! Oh wait!" he cried sarcastically hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I forgot –- you already did that when you wrote a fucking play about you and Clare! Damn it, Eli!"

"Look, Adam," Eli said, his own voice tight with annoyance but resolutely determined as well. "I appreciate your concern, but I can handle this."

"No, you DUMBASS!" Adam shouted, his face red and angry. "You have proven time and time again that you CANNOT handle anything having to do with Clare Edwards! She's your kryptonite, man!"

Adam's words hung in the air; the two boys rendered speechless in the aftershock of the passionate outburst. They had argued before but never like this. Adam had always been too afraid of setting Eli off to be completely honest with him. But now, for better or for worse, all of the cards had been laid out on the table.

Adam looked at Eli, breathing hard. It was a pivotal moment in their relationship as best friends. How would Eli react? Would he freak out? Would he order Adam to leave? Adam had no idea what to do next. Oh crap, maybe he had gone too far. But he just couldn't stand helplessly by and watch Eli go down that road yet again.

Suddenly, Eli laughed, realizing the intense absurdity of the moment. Grinning good-naturedly, he looked at Adam, effectively breaking the anxious mood. "She's just dropping off my work, Adam," he pointed out logically. "We're not eloping."

"'She's just dropping off my work …'" Adam mocked furiously, his voice rising in pitch. Fuck good-natured, rational Eli and his stupid grin!

"Sure, you say that like it's no big deal," Adam continued bitterly. "But tell the truth, Eli, you've been thinking about nothing else for the last two days, haven't you? You've been sitting here waiting for that doorbell to ring, practicing what you are going to say when Clare Edwards comes around. Am I right?"

Eli's face colored, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Shit!" Adam cried in desperation.

Infuriated, Adam started pacing again, muttering to himself under his breath. "Stupid, obsessed… son of a … Clare… hurt.. freaking idiot …not end well…"

Suddenly, Adam broke off his acerbic tirade, his eyes taking on a far away look. "OK, I can fix this," he mused, absent-mindedly stroking the bizarre cat statue Eli kept in his room. "All is not lost."

He turned to Eli determinedly, "Here's what we are going to do." Adam's voice dropped conspiratorially. "If Clare comes today, I'll run defense for you. I will answer the door while you stay here in your room." He gestured towards the bed. "I'll just tell her you are sleeping or something." He held up his hand anticipating Eli's argument. "Don't worry, I won't be rude. I'll thank her nicely for getting your work and say that you will see her at school."

Eli opened his mouth to protest, but Adam cut him off.

"Now, if Clare doesn't come today, we will have to recruit CeCe in our plan. CeCe will have to be your main line of defense. She will have to answer the door and give the excuse for you." He paused, his face flushing in excitement.

"Once Clare has dropped off the work and gone home," he continued eagerly, "it should be smooth sailing. If you see Clare at school, you just thank her for bringing you your work and go on your merry way—no harm, no foul." Adam smiled and adjusted his beanie. "After that, it's all about avoidance which I can totally help with." He put his hand over his heart in a gesture dripping with mock sincerity. "I, being the amazing friend I am, will continue to act as best friend to you both while covertly making sure that each of you stays out of the other's way. It's totally genius in a Special Ops kind of way!"

"Adam, I don't ..." Eli began. But, before he could finish his sentence, the doorbell rang - its ominous clang echoing through the house and heralding the arrival of a visitor.

The two boys paused, looking silently at each other, each hesitant to make the first move. Finally pulling himself together, Adam rose and turned toward the bedroom door, gesturing for Eli to stay. Adam had the door open and was walking out of the room, when, suddenly, he was roughly pushed aside. Falling back painfully against the door jamb, he watched dumbly, as a black streak raced by him and out into the hall.

"You little fucker!" Adam shrieked, taking off after Eli and grabbing him by the back of his t-shirt.

Eli twisted in Adam's grasp, wrenching himself free, only to feel the other boy jump on his back and attempt to put him in a headlock.

"Get off of me!" Eli huffed, pushing his body backwards and slamming Adam into a wall.

Bruised but undaunted, Adam only grasped Eli tighter.

Ignoring the 125 pound drag on his frame and the significant loss of airflow, Eli continued his labored path down the stairs and to the door. He tried to find an advantage and extricate himself from Adam's grasp by sharply elbowing Adam in the ribs. However, Adam hung on tenaciously, ultimately slowing Eli's progress by tightening his hold on Eli's windpipe.

Yet, marshaling some superhuman strength, Eli obstinately soldiered on, gasping shallowly as he approached the door.

"Kryptonite! Kryptonite!" Adam shrieked, his tone high-pitched and desperate, as Eli, coughing violently, reached for the door handle and swung the door open.

Clare Edwards stood on the landing, her expression one of confusion, as she looked at the two boys.

Eli's face was beet red, his breath labored. Adam, his beanie askew on his head, clung to Eli's back, his arm around Eli's neck in a chokehold.

"Should I even ask?" Clare queried cautiously, holding a stack of books in front of her like a shield.

Admitting defeat, Adam released Eli and, with as much dignity as he could muster, slid off of Eli's back. "Hey, Clare," he greeted, not able to hide his annoyance.

Finding his own voice, Eli croaked out a pathetic explanation. "Adam was just showing me a new wrestling move he learned from Drew."

"Did Drew learn the move from Superman?" Clare teased. "Because I could have sworn I heard someone shouting something about kryptonite."

"Yeah, well, um…" Eli stuttered, looking pleadingly at Adam.

Rolling his eyes, Adam came to Eli's rescue. "Clare, don't you know by now that all of life's greatest lessons come to us from superheroes? Geeze, woman, keep up."

"Right," Clare smiled. She glanced back shyly at Eli whose face was starting to return to its normal, pale shade. "Um, I have your work."

Eli felt his cheeks coloring again. "Great. Uh, yeah, why don't you come in?" He stepped back from the doorway, purposely pushing Adam roughly out of the way, as Clare brushed past them.

In return, Adam narrowed his eyes at Eli and sourly mouthed, "Kryptonite."

Eli silently flipped him off and followed Clare's retreating figure.

"So," Clare said, as she made her way into the living room, "I have all of your work for the week here. Most of your teachers were fairly amenable – except for Perino and your math teacher. They both gave me the work but pretty much implied that you were so far behind that it would make no difference." She winced slightly and looked at Eli. "Actually … how far behind are you?"

"I… uh…," Eli swallowed nervously. He had hoped to avoid this. "Well, as it stands right now, I'm pretty much failing all of my classes," he admitted embarrassed.

"Dude!" Adam cried. "What the hell, Eli?"

Eli glared at Adam. "It's been a rough couple of months, OK?"

"Yeah, but you should have, at least, said something," Adam replied indignantly. "I could have helped you."

"Yeah, because you are in all of my classes," Eli said sarcastically. He sighed defeatedly. "Thanks, Adam. But you can't really help me with this."

"No, but I can," Clare offered softly.

The two boys turned to her.

She glanced at Eli warily. "I mean, we practically have the same classes, just at different times of the day." She swallowed nervously and continued. "I could help you get back on track, Eli. I mean … if you don't think that would be too weird or anything."

Adam frantically cleared his throat, desperately trying to think of a solution to Eli's current academic issues that didn't include Clare Edwards. "You know who would be a perfect tutor, Eli? Drew! You guys have the same history class right?"

Eli looked at Adam in shock, unable to formulate a reply.

"Is Drew even passing his history class this year?" Clare asked with a grin.

"He's got a solid D-," Adam replied defensively.

Sensing the need to switch tactics, Adam turned to Eli. "What about Fiona or Imogen? You guys have some of the same classes."

"Adam, you know Fiona's a second year senior right?" Eli offered sarcastically. "She tells everyone it's because she missed so much school last year, but she didn't miss that much. Her grades were just really, really bad. Ask her about the Trojan War some time, if you don't believe me. And Imogen could help me catch up in drama class, but you know as well as I do that she has very little interest in any of her other classes. Hell, she spends more time drawing anime characters and covertly writing 'Mrs. Imogen Goldsworthy' all over the margins of her notes than she does listening to lectures. Besides, she's not in any of my advanced classes."

Sensing the awkward tension in the room, Clare smiled nervously. "You know, it was just a thought," she said softly. "I totally understand if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No!" Eli cried vehemently. He forced his voice to calm. "It's actually a really nice offer, Clare."

In a last ditch effort, Adam was overcome by a fit a coughing. "Huh-huh-kryptonite!" he hacked in desperation.

Eli's mouth tightened, and he glared at his friend before turning back to Clare. "You would really be helping me out," he said with smile. "Thank you."

Adam sighed in defeat.

"No problem," Clare replied smiling a genuine smile in return.

Eli felt his heart soar in response. He reminded himself that Clare was just being nice – she was just offering to tutor him –but, regardless, he couldn't stop a stupid grin from unfolding.

"So, how do you want to work this?" he asked nervously.

"Well, I have the newspaper most days after school, but we could meet after that," Clare replied.

"Are you sure you're not too busy to tutor Eli?" Adam asked, hope coloring his words. "I mean, with school and the newspaper and everything, you won't have much time for a social life."

"It's fine," Clare said firmly. "Presently, I don't have much of a social life to begin with," she added flatly. "Besides," she smiled, "the way I look at it, anything that keeps me out of the house, is a bonus."

"Great!" Eli acknowledged, ignoring Adam's sarcastic eye roll. "So then tomorrow at …."

"Four?" Clare offered.

"Awesome," Eli smiled looking down, a blush coloring his cheeks.

Adam blew out an exasperated breath.

"Well, then," Clare said, "I'll let you boys get back to your superhero wrestling game." She winked at Adam and turned back towards the foyer. "I'll see you tomorrow at four, Eli."

"Clare," Eli called, catching up with her in time to open the door for her. "I really appreciate this. I mean, I had just about reconciled myself to repeating my senior year, or, at the very least, wasting my summer in summer school."

Clare paused and looked at Eli searchingly. "You are one of the most intelligent people I know, Eli. If there's one thing you are not, it's a failure. You just need a little help remembering that." Giving him a shy smile, she turned on her heel and walked down the steps.

Stunned, Eli watched her retreating form, his mind reeling. When she had finally walked out of sight, he let out the breath he had been holding and closed the door.

He sauntered back into the living room, a smug smirk on his face.

"I hate you," Adam said sarcastically from his sprawled seat on the couch.

"No you don't."

"Fine, I don't hate you," Adam replied begrudgingly. "But, I do think you are totally crazy."

"Join the club, man," Eli laughed.

"Seriously, dude," Adam cautioned. "If you go there with her again, you are going to wish for a zombie apocalypse- if only to put you out of your misery."

"Adam…"

"No, Eli, listen. I'm your friend. I'll be there for you, but, honestly, I think this is completely messed up."

"She's just tutoring me, man."

Adam looked at Eli, for the first time noticing just how animated the usually defeated boy had become since Clare's offer. God, was that hope he saw in Eli's eyes? – happiness? Hell, what was the harm in letting the kid be happy for a little while, at least.

"Whatever," Adam huffed good-naturedly, his expression softening.

He grinned, changing the subject. "So …what do you say we get back to that superhero wrestling match? I almost had you. If we hadn't had to stop for Clare, I'm pretty sure I would have been lording my victory over you by now."

Adam stood and assumed an exaggerated wrestling pose. "Come on, Eli. 'Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?'"*****

"Seriously?" Eli questioned, shaking his head. He smiled affectionately at Adam. "You really are one bizarre, little dork, Torres."

"It takes one to know one, man. It takes one to know one."

...

***Quote from the 1989 movie **_**Batman**_** – directed by Tim Burton, written by Sam Hamm and Warren Skaaren, based on the characters created by Bob Kane**


	5. Education

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 5: Education**

**A big shout out to the incredible band Pearl Jam, my favorite group from the 90's grunge scene. Their song "Education" is not one of their well-known hits, but it is one of my favorites. Listen to the lyrics – so much truth!**

**I don't own **_**Degrassi**_** or its characters or any of Dante's Circles of Hell, for that matter.**

**Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement. **

* * *

><p>Clare slowed her steps as Eli's house came into view, her heart beating nervously, her palms starting to sweat. The whole day, as she sat in classes pretending to listen, Clare had been mentally kicking herself for offering to tutor Eli. What the heck had she been thinking? Wasn't her entire plan based on keeping out of Eli's orbital pull? And now she had stupidly agreed to something that would force her to spend time with Eli on a daily basis!<p>

Alarming scenarios kept running through her head – Eli, stressed and frustrated, lashing out at her – Eli misinterpreting her offer to help him with his schoolwork as a sign that she wanted to get back together – Eli becoming obsessed with her again, constantly keeping tabs on her, making her feel overwhelmed and anxious – Eli resorting to dangerous behavior when he discovered that she just wanted to help him, that she just wanted to be his friend.

"God, what have I gotten myself into," Clare muttered to herself, biting her lip and looking apprehensively at the silent façade of the Goldsworthy residence. Wishing she could just run away, instead she shook her head determinedly and squared her shoulders. OK, she could do this. She just had to keep things on a professional level – not give Eli any opportunity for misinterpreting her motivations. It was only tutoring, after all. And, whatever people thought about her, it was a universally acknowledged fact that Clare Edwards was a damn good tutor.

Hesitantly, she walked up the front steps and, taking a shaky breath, rang the doorbell.

After a few moments of silence, CeCe opened the door, her face instantly lighting up at the sight of Clare.

"Clare, honey, it's so good to see you." She engulfed Clare in a bone-crunching hug.

"Hi, CeCe," Clare squeaked out, patting CeCe's shoulder perfunctorily before trying to gracefully extricate herself from the older woman's enthusiastic embrace.

"I'm so glad you are here, Clare," CeCe continued, ushering Clare into the house and turning down the stereo which was currently blaring the Violent Femmes. She took Clare's coat and nonchalantly threw it on the couch .

"To tell you the truth, Bullfrog and I were at our wits' end about what to do about Eli's grades. He is so far behind, and he feels so overwhelmed."

She smirked at Clare and winked cheekily. "I know that, looking at us, it's hard to believe, but Bull and I were not all that great at school the first time around. Not that we don't try to help Eli," she defended. She looked at Clare pleadingly. "Seriously, Clare, I tried to sit down with Eli and help him with his homework, but it was like it was written in another language." Pausing thoughtfully, CeCe stared out into space, tapping her finger against her mouth in contemplation. "Come to think of it, maybe it was his French homework I was looking at," CeCe mused in a teasing voice. "That would explain a lot."

Clare smiled politely in response to the joke, shifting her book bag awkwardly.

"So, we're no help," CeCe continued breezily. "We thought about pulling him out of school completely so he could just concentrate on his health – but then, we thought that being cooped up away from his friends would just trigger another depressive episode. Besides, if there's one thing Eli won't tolerate, it's an extra year of high school." She shuttered and jokingly added, "I can't blame him though; that would make anyone suicidal."

CeCe grabbed Clare's hand, her tone becoming earnestly grateful. "Clare, honey, you are like an answer to a prayer."

Clare swallowed, uncomfortable at the blatant hope in CeCe's eyes. "I can't make any promises, CeCe," Clare said weakly. "I'll try my best, but Eli's the one who has to do the work, if he's going to pass his classes."

"I know, Sweetie, I know," CeCe agreed. "But I really have a good feeling about this. It is you, after all; and Eli would do practically anything to make you happy."

Clare coughed nervously, heat rising to her face.

"Eli's up in his room," CeCe acknowledged slyly, smiling at Clare's red face. "Why don't you go on up and get started."

Clare felt her heart rate increase at the thought of being alone with Eli in his room. It had been a long time since she had been in Eli's bedroom. She blushed remembering the last time. No, Eli's bedroom was definitely not a professional setting, and her goal was to be as professional as possible.

She took a deep breath. "Um… would it bother you if Eli and I worked at the dining room table?" Clare asked nervously. "It's just that I have so much stuff." She fumbled in her book bag anxiously. "I made an organizational chart, mapping what Eli needs to complete every week in order to be caught up by winter break." She held up a multi-colored chart. "It's color coded by course, and all the major project due dates are marked in red." She rifled again in her bag pulling out another document. "I also made up a calendar of admission deadlines and requirements for colleges. I figured it would be best to focus on colleges with late admission deadlines – you know, give Eli time to get his grades back up before applying." Clare stopped her frantic explanation when CeCe sniffed loudly. Startled, Clare looked up to see CeCe's face trembling with repressed emotion.

"I'm sorry," Clare said softly, looking at CeCe's tearful expression. "Do you think it's too much? Will it overwhelm him?"

CeCe didn't answer; she just shook her head vehemently and pulled Clare back into a tight embrace.

"You fucking rock, Baby Girl," CeCe whispered finally, pulling back. She wiped her eyes and smiled. "Go set up in the dining room. I'll get Eli."

Clare just had time to get out her charts and organize her books, pens, and pencils, before Eli sauntered into the room, a smirk firmly planted on his face. Dressed in his usual uniform of dark jeans and a band t-shirt (NOFX this time), Eli nodded at the organized table.

"CeCe said you wanted to work in here."

"I… I just thought it would give us more room," Clare stuttered. She gestured to the table. "I brought a lot of stuff."

Eli smiled. "It works for me – although, my room looks a lot different than it did the last time you were in there." He too blushed slightly at the memory. "I went on a cleaning spree after the … um… accident."

"Oh," Clare replied, not knowing quite what to say. Had Eli really been able to overcome his hoarding tendencies so completely? It wasn't that long ago that she had had to plead with him to throw away a broken binder or an empty popcorn container. In fact, she still distinctly remembered Eli's panic attack in response to her suggestion of throwing out an old, moldy lunch bag that used to belong to Julia. Looking at him, Clare desperately wanted to ask Eli how he had done it – how he had managed to throw away all of his stuff –all of the things he had once found so precious. She wanted to ask him if he was really OK with all of it – if it didn't make him more panicked and nervous. But she didn't want to broach an uncomfortable topic, especially on the first day of tutoring.

"Um…" Eli broke into Clare's thoughts, "should we get started?" He pulled out one of the dining room chairs and gestured for Clare to sit.

Clare blushed and sat down. She grabbed her color-coded chart, turning to Eli. "Now," she started, "I need you to be honest with me, Eli, if this is ever going to work." She furrowed her brow nervously. "You know me – unapologetically type A," she said with a sheepish smile. "I just can't help it." She looked at Eli meaningfully, her voice suddenly serious. "If you get overwhelmed - if I start to stress you out, you need to tell me, OK?"

Eli smiled a genuine smile. "No worries, Edwards. I promise to be completely up front with you." He looked at the chart, "Now explain this amazingly organized work of art."

"OK," Clare agreed, her voice eager with pride. "I hope you don't mind, but I got print-outs from your teachers of all the assignments you are missing. I then divided all of your missing work into equal sections, making sure to allow extra time for big projects and essays, and then I assigned those sections to the weekdays leading up to winter break. All the classes are color-coded. The key is on the bottom of the chart." She pointed to the tiered rainbow of colors at the bottom left of the document. "The tricky part is that you will have to keep up with your current work and make-up your missing work at the same time. So I may have to rearrange the schedule a bit based on what your teachers decide to assign in the weeks to come."

She looked up hesitantly at Eli. "I talked to your teachers." She held up her hand in appeasement. "Don't worry; I didn't give them any personal details. I just explained that you were going through a pretty tough time. I convinced them to allow you to turn in all of your late work for, at least, some credit. Most of them will even let you have until after winter break to make-up any missing work. Although, if we keep to my schedule, you will be able to have a nice, relaxing break because all of your work will be made-up and turned-in before break starts." She paused and looked critically at Eli, searching for any signs of distress.

Not finding any, she continued. "I figured we'd concentrate first on completing all the assignments for this week – as a gesture of good faith. That way, when you turn in all of this week's work on Monday, your teachers will know you are really taking this seriously and will be more willing to work with you." She chewed on her bottom lip. "What do you think?" she asked tentatively.

Eli scratched his head, looking at the chart in awe. "I can't believe you did all this," he breathed.

"Ah, but there's more," Clare continued enthusiastically. She pulled out the college calendar. "Once we get you fairly caught up in your classes, it'll be time to start thinking about colleges for next year."

Eli opened his mouth to argue, but Clare cut him off.

"Look, I'm not trying to push you into anything. If you don't want to go to college next year or don't think you can, that's totally fine. However, you were so excited about college back when we were dating." Clare glanced down at the table, embarrassed, avoiding eye contact. "I..I just think it's always good to have the option."

"Yeah, but my grades..." Eli interjected awkwardly.

"I concentrated on colleges with later admission deadlines," she explained. "That way, if all goes well, your grades will be back to normal, Eli standards when you apply."

Eli looked at her in awe. "I...I …you…" he started.

"Yes, I know," Clare admitted sheepishly. "I'm a regimented, over-achieving nerd, and I can be just the tiniest bit overwhelming." She grinned. "I totally own up to it."

"No, Clare. It's just..." Eli's eyes took on a soft look. "Thank you. Thanks for … um… believing in me, I guess. It means a lot." Eli's voice caught on the last word, and his gaze wavered slightly.

Clare cleared her throat, her pulse racing at the intensity of the moment. She smiled at Eli sincerely before shaking her head and changing the topic.

"So – how about trigonometry?" she queried, breaking the moment and retreating to safer waters.

Eli groaned.

"Come on," Clare teased. "Trig can be fun. You just have to have the right attitude."

"Damn, Edwards," Eli mocked. "You think trigonometry is fun? And they call me the crazy one!"

"Hey, buster – just remember that I'm doing all this out of the goodness of my heart. Besides, don't you know that it's never a good idea to diss the person helping you?" she chided sternly.

"Did Jesus say that? Was it part of his Sermon on the Mount?" Eli teased, falling back into his natural role as sarcastic smartass.

Clare jokingly hit him on the arm. "No, but He should have included it; it's the lesson that Adam and Eve had to learn the hard way," she answered back cheekily.

Eli laughed. "Touché, Edwards. Touché!"

"Now, I bet if we concentrate, we can bang out all of this week's trig assignments before I have to go," Clare smiled, reaching for her trigonometry book.

"All right," Eli smiled in return. "As much as it pains me to say it, you're in charge, Edwards."

"What's that, Eli?" Clare teased. "I don't think I caught that last part."

"Don't push your luck, Clare," Eli grinned, grabbing his notebook.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Clare proudly crossed out the purple color-coded assignments indicating all of the trigonometry homework for the week. The two hours had passed relatively quickly, even though they had been entirely immersed in trigonometric functions.<p>

CeCe had brought them a snack of cokes and chips half-way through their study session and had stayed to proudly watch Eli work until he shooed her away with threats of abandoning math in favor of _COD_.

Closing her trig book, Clare looked up at Eli. "Yeah for us!" she cheered encouragingly. "Tomorrow we'll tackle history and English."

"Can't wait, Edwards," Eli mocked, rolling his eyes. He had to admit, he was surprised at all he had accomplished today. Previously, any time he had sat down to attempt homework, he couldn't get beyond heading his paper - sometimes not even getting past his first name. Yet, with Clare sitting beside him keeping him on task, he was able to focus and complete his work relatively painlessly. Of course, he did get distracted every once in a while- allowing his eyes to wander to the soft curve of Clare's cheek; the way that the light played off of her much longer curls; the way her eyelashes fluttered when she paused to contemplate an equation. For the most part, Clare was oblivious to his covert observations- only catching him once, her face coloring prettily. Damn, she could still make his breath hitch with just her blush.

Eli was brought back into the present moment when Clare started to gather up all of her paraphernalia. She glanced at the darkness outside of the dining room window sighing almost inaudibly.

"I'd offer to give you a ride home," Eli said awkwardly, "but my license has been suspended for…uh… obvious reasons."

"It's fine, Eli," Clare said with a smile. "I had planned on taking the bus anyway."

"If you want to wait for Bullfrog, he could drive you home," Eli suggested. "He usually gets home around 6:30."

"Thanks," Clare replied, "but I have to be home by 6:30. My mother has instigated a new tradition in the Edwards/Martin household – formal, family dinners, starting promptly at 6:45."

"Oh," Eli shrugged, his face tightening at the thought of Clare eating dinner with Jake every night. Try as he might, which admittedly was not very hard, he just couldn't seem to like the guy. "I guess if you have to participate in a new tradition, a family dinner is a nice one," he said grudgingly.

"It's Dante's Ninth Circle of Hell," Clare said sarcastically.

Eli snorted out a surprised laugh.

"No, I'm serious," Clare argued bitterly. "There's nothing like awkwardness and forced pretense to kill a person's appetite. I think I've already lost about seven pounds."

"Really?" Eli questioned, dropping his eyes to Clare's figure without thinking. She looked amazing; but then, she always looked amazing. Catching himself mid-ogle, Eli met Clare's eyes, his cheeks coloring embarrassedly.

Clare smiled awkwardly and bit her lip, not sure of what to say.

"Uh… can I, at least, walk you to the bus stop?" Eli offered, trying to distract Clare from his moment of weakness.

"You don't have to," Clare replied. "It's pretty dark and cold out there."

"All the more reason for you not to be in it alone," Eli assured her, grabbing his leather coat from the hall closet.

"CeCe!" he called. "I'm going to walk Clare to the bus stop!"

"Wait!" CeCe cried, running into the room, wearing a tomato sauce stained apron and brandishing a wooden spoon. "Clare, you are totally welcome to stay to dinner," she offered invitingly. "I'm making rigatoni - my mother's secret recipe."

"Thanks, CeCe, but I told my mom I'd be home by 6:30."

"She has family dinner," Eli explained, his face twisting into a grimace of distaste, despite his best effort.

"Well, then," CeCe pulled Clare in for one last hug. "Thanks so much, honey. We all love you, you know."

"Mom!" Eli cried in horrified embarrassment. He coughed nervously, trying to cover. "You're … uh…going to get sauce all over Clare."

"Oh hush, Eli," CeCe chastised. She gave Clare a final squeeze and released her. "We will see you tomorrow, Baby Girl."

Clare smiled in response and nodded.

Rolling his eyes, Eli ushered Clare into the foyer. He opened the door for her and gestured for her to go first, following close behind and out into the cold darkness.

They walked in silence, following the hazy, glowing path of the street lights; their warm breath clouding in the cold air.

"So how are you feeling?" Clare finally asked bravely. "Today wasn't too much for you, was it?"

"No, Clare," Eli replied. "I'm fine." He shifted uncomfortably, before continuing. "The new meds really seem to be helping. I still get a bit distracted, and the insomnia's still a bitch – but, all in all, I seem to be reacting well so far."

"Good," Clare replied with a smile. They walked again in companionable silence.

"You did really well today," Clare offered, again breaking the quiet.

Eli sighed in exasperation. "Clare, I'm not a kindergartener. You don't have to give me a gold star for staying on task."

Clare's face fell. "Oh, but I already bought a whole packet of stars," she said disappointedly. "I thought I could give you a gold star for every assignment you completed – kind of like a cute incentive for you to finish your work. And they'll look so pretty on your chart."

"Oh," Eli back-pedaled, hating to be the cause of Clare's disappointment. "Well, that's nice of you, Clare. I guess we could…"

"Relax, Eli," Clare interjected laughing. "I'm just kidding. Like I'd ever think of giving you gold stars as an incentive! That would be like trying to motivate the Grim Reaper to improve his work output by rewarding him with Jolly Ranchers and free hugs."

Eli laughed in relief. He glanced over at Clare thoughtfully. "I don't remember you being quite this ornery when we dated," he remarked.

At the mention of their romantic past, the two became quiet again –- the space between them becoming crowded with things unsaid, the weight pushing them slightly further apart from each other.

They trudged on silently until they came to the bus stop.

Eli, his hands shoved in his pockets, cleared his throat and turned to Clare.

"This isn't too weird for you, Clare, is it?" he asked, his voice anxious and strained. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"No," Clare replied, her own voice unsure. "I'm fine." She paused, "What about you?"

"No," Eli cried, almost too vehemently. "I'm great." He brushed his bangs out of his eyes in a nervous gesture. "I'm just really … grateful for everything you are doing for me," he admitted, looking down at the pavement. "For everything you've done for me."

Clare looked at him searchingly, but before she could formulate a reply, the headlights of the bus came into view.

"Well, thanks for walking with me," Clare said awkwardly. "You'll be OK walking back alone?"

"Yeah," Eli said sardonically. "If the crazies come out, I'll just join them. I'm all paid up on my annual membership dues," he joked.

Clare shook her head and smiled at him. "I'll see you tomorrow at four," she said, as the doors to the bus opened with a loud hiss. "Bye, Eli."

"Yeah, see you then, Edwards," Eli smirked. "Enjoy your family dinner."

Clare rolled her eyes and ascended the bus' steps. Making her way to an empty seat in the middle of the bus, she gave Eli a quick wave through the window.

With another jarring hiss, the doors to the bus slammed shut. Eli stepped back a pace, as the bus, shuttering violently in a Hurculean effort, belched out a cloud of exhaust and lumbered away, the harsh grinding of its gears ringing in the curiously still night.

Eli watched the bus's tail lights disappear from view - the blackness of the icy night swallowing up the determined red glow.

Feeling suddenly deflated, Eli turned and started the cold journey back to his house.

As he walked, he replayed the highlights of the afternoon in his mind, his body warming slightly at the thought of Clare's next visit.


	6. I Want You To

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 6**

**(If You're Wondering if I Want You To) I Want You To**

**Tap…tap…tap…is this thing on? **

**So, my little, FanFiction, traffic-stat thingy suddenly doesn't seem to want to work. Thus, aside from those few, lovely people who reviewed the last chapter, I have no idea if anyone is even reading this anymore. This begs the question, "if you post an EClare story on FanFiction and no one reads it, does it make a sound? " OK, that didn't make a lot of sense, but you get my drift. And now with the new promo and episode descriptions which make my little tale completely AU, I can't help but wonder if I still have much of an audience. Please let me know if you are reading this and if it is worth continuing. I have the story outlined, but each chapter is quite time-consuming to write. I will gladly continue if there is an interest. However, I do realize that Season 11.5 will go in a completely different direction than my fiction will. Does this make a difference to you, gentle readers? Are you still willing to invest in a story which will be so far from canon come February? And, more to the point, do I still have many gentle readers left? -because right now it seems that my audience consists of a dedicated eight (shout out to the Degrassi Eight! For the love of God, don't go back to the island!*). Is there anyone else out there? …anyone?...anyone? …Bueller? ...Bueller?** : )**

**Moving on. I have one word for you all– Weezer. Can I get an "Amen!"? Listen to "(If You're Wondering if I Want You To) I Want You To." I dare you not to be in a better mood after hearing it.**

**I do not own Degrassi or any of the characters associated with it. I also do not own X-Men, **_**Wuthering Heights,**__**Hamlet, **_**or**_** The Nutcracker**_** (an interesting combination, if I do say so myself).**

***Gratuitous **_**Lost **_**(don't own it) reference (sorry, it would have worked better if the chapter had only received six reviews – not that I don't appreciate reviews, 'cause I do – hint, hint).**

****Even more gratuitous **_**Ferris Bueller's Day Off**_** (don't own it either) reference.**

* * *

><p>It was Monday. The cold, grey clouds hung oppressively over the city, as Eli slowly made his way to school. Thanks to Clare, he had completed all of his school work from the previous week – everything organized categorically in color-coded folders, waiting to be turned in to his teachers. It felt so strange to be prepared for once. Eli had always been a good student – well, before the accident, he had. But, even then, organization had certainly never been his forte. However, since Clare had walked back into his life, resplendent in all of her disciplined glory, with her master plan to save him from academic catastrophe, she had him so incredibly organized and regimented that he barely recognized himself.<p>

He inhaled nervously, sucking the icy air into his lungs like an addict savoring the first smoke of the day. His hand, gripping the strap of his backpack tightly, was shaking – whether from cold or nerves, Eli couldn't discern. He had to admit, he was a little nervous about people's reactions to his sudden return to school. Adam had assured him that news of his recent panic attack had not made it into mainstream, Degrassi gossip. His teachers knew that his latest absence was due to his "condition," but the students just figured he was yet another victim of the horrible flu that was currently making the rounds. The only ones who knew the truth were Adam, Fiona, possibly Imogen (he assumed Fiona had told her), and Clare.

Eli swallowed anxiously. Tutoring had been going really well. Aside from a few awkward moments, he and Clare had fallen right back into an easy friendliness – bantering back and forth; making sarcastic comments; arguing about movies, books, and music. Of course, things weren't perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. There was still the ominous specter of their past hovering over them, tainting even their most innocent comments with an undercurrent of bitterness and shame. However, at this point, Eli was thrilled simply to have the opportunity for a friendship with Clare. Pausing, as the front of Degrassi came into view, he wondered if things would change now that they were back in school together.

Eli tightened his grip on his backpack and silently surveyed the Degrassi students as they lost themselves in the intricate dance of morning arrival. How was he supposed to treat Clare now that the two of them were no longer isolated to the confines of his house? Would she want him broadcasting their fledgling friendship all over the school? After all, between his car crash, the play he had written about their doomed relationship, and his very public break-down in response to her rejection, all of Degrassi knew almost every detail of their messy romance. He and Clare were like a modern day Heathcliff and Cathy - the wretched couple whom fate had pissed all over. And people were fascinated by their tragic tale of heartbreak and woe. Thus, at any hint of reconciliation, there was no doubt in Eli's mind that the entire school would be buzzing with gossip.

Eli frowned in contemplation. Maybe he should try to avoid Clare at school and attempt to save her from the intense, public scrutiny that was bound to come. He only had one class with her, anyway – Dawes' Advanced English 12. It would be easy to keep out of Clare's path the rest of the day.

"Eli!" Fiona's cry jolted Eli from his pessimistic thoughts. He looked up to see Fiona precariously teetering towards him in impossibly high and, he assumed, incredibly expensive boots.

"Thank God you're back! I've been dying of boredom here by myself." Fiona grabbed his arm and grinned. "I mean Imogen's sweet and all, but, have you noticed," her voice lowered to a whisper, "the girl's a few cards short of a full deck?"

Eli laughed. "Yeah, but perhaps I'm not the best judge of mental stability, Fi," he joked, "especially after what happened last week."

Fiona's face scrunched up in concern, as she locked eyes with Eli. "How are you?" she asked earnestly. "I was going to visit you, but, according to Adam, you have been 'otherwise engaged' with your new tutor." She grinned slyly on the last word.

"I'm fine, Fiona," Eli said flatly, brushing off her obvious innuendo. "I seem to be adjusting pretty well to the new meds. And thanks to my 'new tutor,' I have all of last week's work completed and ready to turn in."

"Seriously?" Fiona questioned, her eyes growing wide in amazement. "Eli, I've seen you try to do homework in study hall; it's not pretty, to say the least. How did you manage to get a whole week's worth of work done?"

Eli smirked, "That, my dear, is just one of the many talents of Clare Edwards."

"Wow!" Fiona exclaimed in awe. She turned to Eli eagerly, her eyes alight with some grand scheme. "Do you think Clare would help me with my history paper?" she asked excitedly. "If I don't pass history this term, I'm simply going to be forced to kill myself – and I'm pretty sure Perino will join me, if he thinks he has to face another semester with me in class." She pouted dramatically. "Seriously, Eli, when I handed in my test last Friday, all he did was sigh and shake his head. That can't be a good sign."

Eli shrugged, smiling at Fiona's tale of woe. "You could ask Clare. I know she's pretty busy with her own work and the newspaper – not to mention with her 'star pupil.'" He adjusted the straps of his backpack proudly. "But she may agree to take you on."

"I will," Fiona agreed happily, bolstered at the thought of a solution to her failing history grade. She tightened her grip on Eli's arm to prevent herself from falling as they ascended the steps in front of the school.

Once safely at the top, Fiona cleared her throat softly. "Is it weird working with her?"

"It was a little strange, at first," Eli admitted, opening the door to the school and ushering in Fiona. "But, you know, our relationship wasn't all break downs and screaming matches. Once upon a time, we were best friends. I think we've been able to tap into that." He smiled softly.

"Well, I don't know if it's the new medication or your new study partner, but you seem so much better," Fiona observed fondly. "I'd say that you were back to normal, but, considering that you were involved in a manic episode for most of our friendship, I have to say you are back better than normal."

"Why thank you, kind lady," Eli grinned.

"Oh, but watch out for Imogen," Fiona warned. "She is not happy that Clare is back in your life in any capacity." Fiona's face took on an amused look. "Apparently, she and her cat, Mr. Jenkins, did a tarot card reading on you, and the Ten of Swords kept coming up. According to Imogen, the Ten of Swords indicates suffering and betrayal and that could only mean that Clare Edwards is bad news."

Eli snorted. "Well, you know Mr. Jenkins sucks at reading the tarot. The damn cat just eats the cards. I wouldn't worry too much, if I were you."

Fiona laughed. "Well, this is me." She gestured to the door of Perino's classroom. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the door handle. "Hey, if you see Clare, put in a good word for me. I would do almost anything to pass this horrible class." She sighed pitifully. "I don't understand why we are even required to learn about all the boring things that happened in the past - it's just so utterly passé."

"Will do," Eli said, chuckling. "See you at lunch, Fiona." He turned and started walking to his math class, advancing only a few steps down the hall before running into a tall figure.

"Sorry," Eli said, looking up.

"Eli," Jake nodded perfunctorily and, without a second glance, continued down the hall towards his first period class.

Eli felt his body's reaction before he could even process it. Just looking at Jake – hearing his voice – caused Eli's heart rate to increase and blood to rush to his face. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Clare and Jake were no longer dating. But even this fact couldn't quell the jealousy endothermically boiling inside of him. Try as he might, he just couldn't shake the visual of Clare and Jake kissing – a sight he had had the misfortune of witnessing all too much during the couple's tenure together.

The warning bell shrieked alarmingly, and Eli was forced to move on to his class. Unfortunately, his calm, good mood had been ruined.

* * *

><p>By the time he entered English class, Eli's mood had definitely improved. His teachers had been shocked and happily amazed that he had all of last week's work ready to turn in. Even his math teacher, Eli's most vocal critic, had been supportive of Eli's efforts, having been completely charmed and impressed by "that wonderful Ms. Edwards."<p>

Eli had spent a pleasant lunch with Fiona and Imogen (Adam had lunch a different period). And although Imogen kept giving him dire warnings about staying away from Clare, Eli had to admit, soggy nachos from the Caf aside, it was good to be back at school.

He hadn't purposely tried to avoid her, but Eli hadn't seen Clare all day. He kept expecting to run into her, anxiously wondering how he should greet her, but, thus far, his worry had been in vain. However, that was all about to change with the last period of the day - English.

Walking into their shared English class, Eli's eyes immediately jumped to Clare. She was standing at the front of the classroom, talking to another student - her red polo contrasting starkly with the sea of blue ones, broadcasting the fact that she was just "that much smarter" than all the other advanced English students. Her hair hung loosely to her shoulders, the soft curls framing her face. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed one knee-sock clad leg against the back of the other, as she laughed at something the person she was talking to said. Eli swallowed hard and blinked. This was it.

"Eli, dude!" Adam called, coming up behind Eli and slapping his shoulders fondly. "It's good to have you back, man."

"Thanks," Eli sighed, turning around to address Adam. "I'd never thought I'd say this in reference to school, but it's good to be back."

"Hey," Clare smiled softly, joining the two boys after being alerted to Eli's entrance by Adam's loud greeting. She looked inquisitively at Eli, concern marking her gaze, "How are you?"

"Good," Eli croaked, his voice breaking like a pubescent tween.

Adam stifled a laugh.

"I'm good," Eli continued, steadying his voice and shooting a death glare at Adam. "All of my teachers were super impressed that I had my work. Uh … it was nice to come to class prepared for a change." He looked at Clare significantly. "Thanks."

"You did the work, Eli," she reminded him with a soft smirk.

"Yeah, but thanks all the same."

Adam cleared his throat obnoxiously. "Anyway, since you are doing so well," Adam grinned and patted Eli condescendingly on the head, "I thought you could use a little break." His eyes shone with eagerness. "_Gorefest 4_ in 3D is opening on midnight this Friday! There is no way Mom will let me go to a midnight showing on a school night. But, I thought we could go see it Friday after school and then go and get some ribs at Little Miss Steaks! You know, celebrate the fact that, like a phoenix, you've once again risen from the ashes more powerful than ever before. " He grinned at Eli. "Sorry about the Jean Grey reference, man," he smirked. "It's girly, but it totally applies here."

Clare shook her head, smiling indulgently at Adam's unbridled enthusiasm over poorly-written, cinematic blood fests and superhero analogies.

"No offense taken," Eli smiled. He cleared his throat, stalling. "Adam, as much as I would love to go see a graphically bloody horror film with you, I have tutoring with Clare on Friday afternoon," Eli said.

"Aw, but, come on! This is _Gorefest 4_ in freaking 3D we are talking about!"

Adam turned to Clare pleadingly. "Come on, Clare. He's been working so hard. Doesn't he deserve a day off?"

"Adam, I am not in charge of Eli," Clare said firmly. "If he wants to take a day off of studying to go see some brain-cell killing, completely unrealistic film in which untrained actors unconvincingly spout dialogue that, no doubt, was written by a group of twelve-year old boys hopped up on energy drinks, he is certainly welcome."

"Awesome!" Adam cried.

"No, wait," Eli interjected, laughing. "Adam, I'd love to go, but I can't get even further behind. Clare has put a lot of time and effort into creating a schedule that tells me what I have to accomplish every day in order to get caught up by break. I don't want to screw this up. I have to keep up with everything."

Adam shook his head sadly. "I know, as your best friend, I should support you," he said, the timbre of his voice high in disappointment. "But, come on, man, this is _Gorefest 4_ in 3D!"

"Tell you what," Clare broke in. She turned to Eli. "It's only Monday. Let's see how much we can accomplish before Friday. If we do a little extra every day, we may not even need to meet on Friday to stay on schedule."

Adam beamed and pulled Clare into a one-armed embrace. "Have I told you how awesome you are, Clare?" he asked excitedly. "If it wasn't such an incredibly bloody movie, I'd invite you to come along."

"That's OK," Clare grinned. "I think I'll pass on it – even though it is _Gorefest 4_ in freaking 3D!"

"You could meet us for dinner," Eli offered tentatively, disappointed at the thought of one day less of Clare.

Adam's face fell slightly. He was still nervous about the time Eli spent with Clare.

"Oh … uh…" Clare stuttered uncomfortably. "Professional - I need to keep this professional," she thought desperately to herself.

"If you can't, it's no big deal," Eli covered quickly, trying to hide the disappointment coursing through his body.

Clare glanced at Eli who was shifting his weight nervously from leg to leg. It wasn't a date. It wasn't even a friends' date. The two of them wouldn't even be alone. Adam would be there the whole time. And Clare had to admit she missed the friendship between the three of them. What harm could one little dinner do?

"Well, let me see if I can get out of The Edwards/Martin Formal Family Dinner that night," she said. "If I can, I'm totally in."

"Cool," Eli replied grinning softly.

"Yeah, sounds good, "Adam replied slightly less enthusiastically.

The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and Eli, Clare, and Adam retreated to their respective seats.

Try as he might, Eli couldn't stop himself from stupidly grinning throughout the entire class period.

* * *

><p>Eli sat nervously in one of the vinyl covered booths at Little Miss Steaks, his fingers absent-mindedly twisting and smoothing the wrapper of his straw. Across from him, Adam was excitedly reliving every blood-spattered moment of <em>Gorefest 4<em> in 3D in all of its horrifying glory. However, Eli's mind was focused solely on the fact that, momentarily, Clare Edwards was going to walk through the door of the restaurant and join them for dinner.

"But I think my favorite part," Adam said excitedly, "was when they all began that impromptu performance of _The Nutcracker_. Who doesn't love a gruesome, multiple murder set to Tchaikovsky? The guy who played the homicidal maniac was a really graceful dancer, don't you think?"

Eli nodded in agreement and took another sip of his coke.

"Shit, man," Adam chastised, shaking his head in disappointment. "You could at least pretend to listen to me."

"I was…," Eli started to argue.

"Save it," Adam interjected. "Your mind is currently lost in Clareland. It's pathetic really."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Eli defended, his voice tight in annoyance.

"Dude, Eli," Adam huffed. His gaze became suddenly serious. "Don't you think you should pull back a little with this whole Clare thing? I mean I understand the need for the tutoring, but now you guys are seeing each other socially?"

"We're not seeing each other," Eli argued. "If you haven't noticed, Adam, you are a participant in this dinner too."

"Oh, am I?" Adam asked mockingly. "Because it kinda felt like I was talking to myself there earlier. In fact, I really can't wait until Clare gets here because then I'm SURE you will be even more focused on little ole' me."

"Shut up," Eli smiled, in spite of himself. "Look, Adam, it's just a dinner – the three of us – like it used to be. Haven't you missed hanging out like this?"

"Yeah," Adam smiled sadly. "I just don't want either of you to get hurt."

"We won't. I promise."

"Oh for the love of God, please don't make me any promises!" Adam huffed sarcastically, smiling to take the sting out of his words.

Without warning, the waitress appeared at their table, a wind-tousled Clare Edwards in tow.

"Sorry I'm late," Clare apologized, trying to unbutton her coat with frozen fingers. "Glen was going to drive me, but he was held up on a job site; and I didn't want to go with Jake. So I had to walk, and it took me longer than I thought it would." She finally finished with her coat and, tossing it aside, slid into the booth next to Adam.

Eli couldn't help the bitter disappointment he felt at Clare's choice of seat, but he smiled all the same. "Seriously, Edwards?" Eli questioned gruffly. "It's like 20 degrees out there and dark to boot."

"Yeah, the sacrifices I make for you guys," Clare smirked. "It's kind of sad really," she teased.

However, both boys were suddenly struck by the truth of her words.

"Can I bring you something to drink?" the waitress queried, handing Clare a menu.

"Yes, please," Clare shivered. "A hot coffee with lots of cream." She turned toward the boys after the waitress had retreated to the kitchen. "So… how was the movie? Oscar worthy?"

"It was pretty good," Eli smiled.

"What?" Adam cried. "It was freaking awesome, Clare! Seriously, the best off all the _Gorefests_, hands down! When the old dude was decapitated, I swear I thought that his severed head was going to hit me in the face - the 3D was that amazing! And don't even get me started on the wood chipper scene!"

"All right, I won't," Clare agreed with a grimace. "Thanks for the warning."

The waitress returned with Clare's coffee. Clare thanked her and gratefully wrapped her stiff fingers around the steaming mug. "Well, I'm sure you both know what you want. So I better look at the menu so we can order." She looked at the two boys fondly. "After all of that blood and gore, I bet you guys are starving. In fact, I'm surprised Adam hasn't started gnawing on his own limbs in desperation." She smiled and pulled the menu over to survey it.

Eli watched her, slightly mesmerized by the clear, sharp blue of Clare's eyes; the red flush of her cheeks contrasting with the pale smoothness of her skin; her wind-blown curls.

Adam cleared his throat in exasperation and shot Eli a pointed look.

Eli grinned and looked away guiltily.

"Have either of you tried the potato soup?" Clare inquired, looking up.

Eli only shook his head, but Adam huffed sarcastically. "Who orders soup when there are ribs and steaks on the menu? Come on, Clare, don't be such a wuss."

"Well, this wuss is completely frozen, so I will be ordering the soup," Clare said adamantly, waving the waitress over.

After the three of them had placed their orders, the conversation stalled, an uncomfortable silence settling over the table.

Adam looked searchingly at his two best friends. Damned if he was going to worry about keeping the conversation going. He thought this was a bad idea to begin with. The sooner the two of them realized that, the better it would be for everyone.

"So," Eli tried to bridge the awkwardness. "What did you do with your afternoon off from tutoring?"

"Oh," Clare replied, blushing slightly. "Actually, I went to The Dot with Katie and Drew and a bunch of other people from the newspaper."

"Oh… that sounds nice," Eli replied, wondering if his tutoring sessions had been keeping Clare from other social engagements.

"Drew tried to convince me to take him on as a tutoring client," Clare continued, "but I told him I was pretty booked up. Besides," she smiled sarcastically, "I can't see Katie being the least bit OK with me spending unchaperoned time around her boyfriend."

"Dude, Clare," Adam interjected. "Believe me; you don't want to tutor Drew. Once, I tried to help him write a simple essay on _Hamlet_, and I had to physically leave the room to keep myself from strangling him in frustration. The thesis of his paper was that Hamlet should have killed himself in the first act because he was, and I quote, 'super boring and stupidly named after a breakfast food.'"

"Well, I give him points for creativity," Clare laughed. "Actually, I think I'll just stick to my current tutoring client. I pretty much just have to keep him focused. He picks up the material with amazing ease." She smiled at Eli.

Eli smirked, blushing at Clare's compliment. "Oh, wait a minute," he said, suddenly remembering. "Would you, by any chance, be willing to help Fiona with her history paper? She is failing history again and is pretty desperate. She begged me to put in a good word with you."

"Oh… um…I guess I could help her out," Clare stuttered. "It's just one paper, right?"

"At this point," Eli assured her. "Although, I know from first-hand experience that anything involving Fiona is usually more than originally bargained for."

"Amen," Adam agreed sardonically.

The waitress returned bearing bowls of salad and soup.

The three friends fell into an easy conversation over the first course - debating the merits and shortcomings of the Occupy Movement as well as the dangers of a deregulation in a corporately controlled global economy.

By the time their entrées came, any awkwardness that had plagued the threesome at the start of dinner had dissipated. And by the time desert was served - two chocolate brownie sundaes and an extra spoon - Adam was regaling Eli and Clare with hilarious, behind the scenes incidents of his radio show.

"Seriously," Adam snorted, laughing hysterically. "Dave had no idea who Beck was. He had looked up Jeff Beck on his phone and then had wondered why the guy who sang 'Loser' and 'Devil's Haircut' was considered to be such a guitar God. I swear – kids these days!" Adam finished sarcastically.

"As if you knew who Beck was before you met me," Eli joked. "Face it, Adam, musically you were just a babe in the woods before I came into your world and educated the hell out of you."

"Hey now," Adam cautioned good-naturedly.

"Don't worry, Adam," Clare chimed in, licking the last remaining traces of chocolate sauce off of her spoon. "I still can't keep up with Eli's vast musical knowledge, despite his dedicated tutelage. I finally gave up trying to learn any of the names of the groups he made me listen to and just referred to them all as 'that angry band that always screams about how life sucks.'" She grinned wickedly at Eli. "Amazingly, he always knew whom I was talking about."

"Ouch, Clare! You've wounded me to the quick!" Eli said grabbing his heart in mock hurt.

"You'll live," Clare retorted smiling.

She glanced at her watch and sighed. "Well, I hate to break-up this party, but I have to be home by ten." She frowned and shook her head.

"Ten? On a Friday night?" Eli questioned incredulously. "That seems remarkably strict. Didn't your curfew used to be eleven on weekend nights?"

Clare blushed. "Yeah," she said embarrassed. "But that was before my mother decided that my whole 'rebellious phase' last year was due to her 'lax' parenting. It's ridiculous really. Jake," her mouth twisted down on the name, "gets to stay out until midnight, but sweet, little Clare has to be home at ten, like the good, innocent, obedient girl that she is."

"That sucks," Adam commiserated.

"Yeah," Eli said blushing at the fact that he was probably one of the big reasons for Clare's new curfew.

"You're telling me," Clare said. She grabbed the bill and started mentally calculating everyone's share.

"No, Clare," Eli broke-in, reaching for the bill. "Please let me pay for your dinner. I feel like I owe you so much."

"You don't owe me anything," Clare said, distractedly swatting his hand away.

"But, you've put in so much time with the tutoring and the scheduling and everything. You could, at least, let me buy you dinner to help assuage my guilt," Eli reasoned.

"Hey, you can buy me dinner," Adam interjected. "I'd be happy to help assuage your guilt."

"Nice try, Torres," Eli smirked.

"Really, Eli. Don't feel like you own me anything. I'm not looking for any type of payment," Clare argued.

"I know you're not. Don't do it for you. Do it for me. Let me feel just a little bit useful, even if it's just buying you a meal every now and again."

Eli looked at Clare his eyes pleading.

"Fine," she gave in with a sigh, handing him the bill. A sly smile overtook her features. "Although, if I would have known you would be paying for it, I certainly wouldn't have ordered the soup."

"You're such a little opportunist, Edwards," Eli teased, smiling and reaching for his wallet.

Adam rolled his eyes at their flirtatious banter and changed the subject. "Hey, Clare," Adam said. "Can I give you a ride home? I have my mother's car."

"That would be wonderful," Clare sighed in relief. "I wasn't relishing the prospect of another subzero walk. I think I almost lost two fingers on the way here."

"No problem," Adam said fondly. "We'll drop you off at your house and then head to Eli's for a serious round of Modern Warfare." He looked at Eli with a smirk and then turned back to Clare. "The boy's pretty hopeless, but I keep trying to teach him some of my mind-blowingly advanced gaming skills."

"Whatever, Torres," Eli huffed. "I may not quite have your admittedly impressive video game skills, but, I'll have you know, my skills in other areas far surpass yours. Just ask Clare."

Clare's eyes widened, and a blush spread across her cheeks.

"No, wait!" Eli cried. "I didn't mean… I wasn't trying to imply…I was referring to my academic prowess …"

"Dude, stop while you're behind," Adam joked, smiling. He put his arm around a blushing Clare and led her towards the door.

Embarrassed, Eli made sure that the bill was paid and a nice tip included, before following his friends out of the restaurant.

* * *

><p>The ride to Clare's house was slightly more tense and silent than Eli would have hoped. He mentally kicked himself for his stupid comment back at the restaurant. However, all in all, he had to admit that the night had far exceeded his expectations. It didn't take much for them all to fall back into their previous roles as the three, sarcastic amigos.<p>

Adam pulled up to the front of Clare's house, jolting Eli from his thoughts.

"Well, thanks for including me in your guys' night," Clare said, grabbing her purse. "It was," she paused thoughtfully, "a lot of fun."

"Yeah," Eli chimed in from the back seat. "Just like the good ole' days."

"Yeah," Adam admitted begrudgingly. "It was pretty cool."

"Have fun playing video games," Clare said. "I'll see you guys on Monday." She opened her door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. However, before she could turn to leave, Eli opened his own door and stepped out.

They stood together on the sidewalk in front of Clare's house, staring at each other. Clare gazed confusedly at Eli, her eyes widening and her heart racing in anxiety. What was he doing? Was he going to ….?

"Oh …uh… I just thought, since you are getting out… that I'd take the front seat," Eli explained.

"Oh!" Clare cried, her face coloring. "Yes, of course. Well… uh…I better get inside." She gave a half-hearted wave and hastily turned towards her house. "See you," she called over her shoulder, her voice strangled.

"Bye, Clare," Eli said, smiling at the flustered girl.

Once inside her house, Clare leaned against the door, breathing heavily. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she chastised herself. When Eli had exited the car with her, Clare's first thought was that he was going to walk her to her door or maybe even hug her goodbye. She had panicked at the thought. But, of course, he had just wanted the front seat. "Thanks goodness," she thought in retrospect, putting her hand over her heart in an attempt to slow it down.

On the whole, the night had gone well. The three of them had fallen back into their comfortable, familiar roles – definitely not part of her original plan to keep things on a professional level, but nice all the same. She just had to make sure that things stayed on the friendly level. She didn't want Eli misinterpreting any of her actions.

She blushed thinking of Eli's comment at the restaurant. As embarrassing as it was, he did have a point. The boy was skilled in many different ways; she could certainly attest to that. But those days were over and best forgotten. She would have to be more careful of her reactions to Eli in the future. He could read her like an open book.

"Clare, is that you?" her mother called from the kitchen. "Come and tell me about your day."

Sighing, Clare made her way into the kitchen, putting her cold hands to her face to try and quell the heated flush marking her cheeks.


	7. I'm Not Okay

**After the Storm **

**Chapter 7**

**I'm Not Okay**

**Author's Note: Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews and messages. You guys are truly awesome. I have to admit, although it's time consuming, I really do enjoy writing this little story. I just wanted to make sure that people were still reading it; and, without being able to view those freaking traffic stats, it's hard to tell. So thanks for letting me know that this does still have an audience.**

**And, as a little thank you gift for all of your support and encouragement, how about an early update? But, wait - before you get too excited (cue clip of Imogen's face when she opens Bianca's extremely bizarre (?), creepy (?) …um… unique "present"), you better read the following public service announcement.**

**Bipolar Disorder, like any other mood disorder or mental illness, is a serious condition that can have truly devastating effects on both the sufferer and on those around him/her. It is not some romantic, poetic affliction that simply adds mystery and depth to a character. It cannot be "cured" with the right pill or with enough love and understanding. In many cases, it can be managed with a combination of therapies. However, there is no magic bullet. **

**I remind you of this as a way of introducing the next chapter. As much as we, as viewers and readers, want Eli to get better and live happily ever after, the reality of Bipolar Disorder is that there will always be dark days mixed in with the light. The trick is to accept those dark aspects and learn from them – realizing that, without darkness, it would be difficult to even recognize the light. **

**Also, keep in mind that, in order to heal and move forward, Eli and Clare have to face all the crap that has happened in the past. They can't just brush it under the rug and forget about it – that would be like Drew forgetting that Bianca publically outed Adam by tearing open his shirt in the halls of Degrassi or like Anya forgetting that Owen tormented and hazed Riley for being gay (wait … um… oops!). So hang in there, gentle readers; it's going to be a bit of a bumpy ride. **

**Three cheers for My Chemical Romance and their amazingly apropos anthem for a generation in distress – "I'm Not Okay." It's one of my very favorite songs. Listen to it. You know you want to. ; )**

**I do not own Degrassi or any of the characters associated with it. I also do not own The Beatles or George Orwell's **_**Nineteen Eighty-Four**_**.**

* * *

><p>Eli sighed wearily and dropped his head onto the smooth surface of his desk. He was only thirty minutes into his first period class, and he already felt like he was languishing in nether regions of hell. But then, that seemed to be a common state of affairs these days.<p>

In fact, the last couple of days could only be described as an endless stretch of listless, gray minutes - each one longer and more intolerable than the last. And, like a survivor of some horrible shipwreck, Eli was adrift in this insufferable, unending nothingness. He was out there, treading water; trying not to sink into the dark depths of grayness and apathy that threatened to pull him down permanently into that numbing void of desolation. And, as much as Eli struggled –- as much as he fought against the suffocating tides of depression and despair - there was no land or rescue in sight.

Eli swallowed tiredly and closed his eyes. He couldn't even pinpoint why he felt so low. School was going well. Tutoring was fucking amazing. With Clare's help, he was keeping up in all of his classes and turning in a steady stream of quality make-up work. His grades were making a definite recovery. His teachers were more understanding and supportive. He was hanging out with his friends more. He was interacting with his parents more. In fact, Bullfrog had just surprised him with a whole slew of free tickets and backstage passes to next Friday's Vitriolic Youth concert – a concert that Eli had been anxiously anticipating since late last summer. Indeed, for all intents and purposes, his life was pretty damn good. Why then did it all seem so empty and useless?

Eli put his arms over his head, trying to drown out the relentlessly grating noise of the classroom. Why even bother with this stupid charade when he knew, deep down, that it wouldn't make a difference? Really, what did grades and friends matter in the long run? They weren't going to cure his disorder or magically fix the chemistry of his brain. A bipolar, socially adjusted, honor roll student was still, at the end of the day, just a damaged person whose brain didn't function correctly. Hell, if he couldn't be happy when everything in his life was going well, why even bother to try? It was all just so fucking futile. And Eli was so goddamned tired of trying to fight against futility. He was just so goddamned tired - period.

"Mr. Goldsworthy?" his physics teacher queried in concern. "Are you feeling OK?"

Thirty pairs of eyes turned to Eli, surveying him critically.

Eli slowly raised his head from his desk, struggling to focus on his teacher. Was he OK? Was the man trying to be funny? Who asks the resident school psycho if he is OK? "No," he rasped. "Actually I'm not at all OK."

One of his classmates guffawed softly in agreement, turning to his friends and shaking his head, a sarcastic smirk on his face.

"Do you need to see the nurse?" his teacher asked alarmed, observing Eli's gray countenance and dull, glassy eyes and thinking that Eli's malady was a physical one.

"Yeah, I think that would be a good idea," Eli agreed, just wanting to get out of the classroom for a little while –- get away from the stupid noise and the stupid people and the stupid class. Who the hell needed to learn physics anyway?

The teacher scribbled a note on a hall pass and handed it to Eli. Eli took the note obediently but couldn't muster up the energy needed to thank his teacher. He just stared unseeingly at the hall pass for a few moments before slowly gathering up his stuff and wearily shuffling out of the door, ignoring the curious stares and muffled commentary of his classmates.

Once in the deserted hall, Eli leaned against a bank of lockers, breathing deeply. He just wanted to go home and lock himself in his bedroom for a few weeks - or months, if he were being honest. Unfortunately, it was only first period.

He sighed in despair. God, how was he going to survive six more class periods? And even then, he couldn't go home. He had his stupid therapy appointment after school today – a whole hour of sitting in his doctor's office talking about how his life was going. How was his life going? He was bipolar, for fuck's sake! How the hell did Dr. Roberts think his life was going?

And then, after his time spent in the mind-numbing purgatory of therapy, Clare was coming over for a shortened tutoring session. Usually, the promise of seeing Clare was enough to get Eli through his interminable time at school. However, today, he couldn't even get excited about the prospect of spending time with her. For one thing, he didn't want her to see him in his present state, and he was just too exhausted to make any effort at pretense. Also, more importantly, he had lately come to the realization that hoping for any type of relationship with Clare was just stupidly naïve and idiotically masochistic on his part. In fact, Eli was sure that, any day now, Clare was going to come to her senses and ditch him; because, really, any type of relationship with him – romantic or otherwise – entailed entirely too much effort for the other person involved. Why the hell would anyone choose to be with him when there were so many other perfectly normal and happily functioning people to choose from? It was stupid, really. And Clare Edwards was anything but stupid.

He heard voices coming from the end of the hall and paused in his mental tirade of self-loathing. Exhaustedly he raised his head to see who was making the commotion, his breath catching in his throat when he saw Clare walking with a boy in a red polo shirt. They were laughing and talking animatedly.

Eli felt his stomach drop, and he stealthily moved to the side of the bank of lockers. From his position, he could see Clare and her companion but would remain unseen by them. He fought to control his ragged breathing so that he could listen to their conversation without giving himself away.

Eli's eyes narrowed when the boy knocked against Clare's shoulder and teasingly grinned at her.

"Liam," Clare chastised. "We can't mention that in our article. We are writing about the principal of our school."

"Yeah, but my sources tell me that, although he tried to maintain the good boy image, ole' Archie Simpson had quite a colorful past when he was just a mere lad roaming the halls of Degrassi. In fact, I heard he had quite a mouth on him."

"Regardless," Clare smiled at the boy fondly. "Our article is about Simpson's decision to tighten security and limit student rights after Vegas Night and how those new restrictions are working - or, more accurately, how they are not working."

Eli grasped the side of the locker tightly. Liam? Who the hell was Liam? And why was he acting so familiar with Clare?

"All I'm saying," Liam argued, "is that I don't think our friend Snake and all of his buddies would have stood for any of this uniform crap - not to mention the completely unfair rules and regulations. They would have started a student revolution." Liam grabbed Clare's shoulder, effectively turning her around in one, swift movement. He met her gaze, his voice sincere. "You know, Clare, everybody wants to change the world." Suddenly, he grinned and fervently started playing air guitar, his voice cracking endearingly in a passionate rendition of "Revolution" by The Beatles.

"Shhh," Clare laughed. "You'll get us in trouble." She continued teasingly, "At least the metal detectors have fallen by the wayside. Degrassi doesn't seem so much like a police state as it once did." She stopped and looked around dramatically. "I'm no longer constantly looking over my shoulder in fear that Big Brother is watching."

"Oh," Liam said excitedly, stopping beside her, "that reminds me. I've been meaning to ask you if you wanted to come and see the Orwellians with me. They're playing at The Mine Shaft on Saturday night." He smirked at Clare. "I know how much you like British New Wave."

Eli felt his face grow hot. The sharp metal of the locker bit into his palm where he was grasping it in a death grip. Holy fuck! Clare had just broken up with Jake, for God's sake, and the vultures were already circling. Who did this kid think he was with his stupid air guitar skills and lame hair style? Seriously, he looked like one of the Jonas Brothers.

Clare smiled uncomfortably. "That sounds great, but I… I can't."

Eli let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

Liam's face fell. "Uh, that's OK," he said disappointedly. The two stood in silence for a few moments until Liam cleared his throat and asked, "Is it Jake still?"

"No!" Clare cried defensively. She caught herself and steadied her voice. "I mean, no, it's not Jake. It definitely has nothing to do with him." She shifted her gaze to the floor. "That's all water under the bridge –- lots of water, under a really big bridge." She looked at Liam, her cheeks coloring. "It's just that, after everything that has happened in this last year, my mother has - well, let's just say that she has strongly recommended that I take a break from dating for an indeterminate length of time."

"Ah," said Liam comprehending. "Well, that sucks," he added. He looked at her thoughtfully, "Could you go as just friends, do you think?"

Eli tensed, waiting for Clare's reply.

"If we were attending a church picnic maybe," Clare joked. "But a rock concert? Not a chance." She smiled sweetly at the boy. "Thanks for inviting me though. I bet you will have fun."

"Not as much fun as I would have had if I were going with another truly committed British New Wave enthusiast," Liam said, once more knocking against Clare's shoulder fondly.

Clare stopped and turned to him, a sheepish look on her face. "Liam, you know that I really don't know anything about British New Wave, right?" Her voice was apologetic.

Liam laughed good-naturedly. "Come on, Clare. When I asked you if you liked The Cure, you replied, 'What cure?' and then mentioned that your subscription to _The_ _New England Journal of Medicine_ had run out. Give me just a little credit here."

Clare laughed. "I really am hopeless musically. My ex-boyfriend used to get so frustrated with my amazing lack of musical knowledge—and his dad is a disc jockey, so it was really bad." She grinned wistfully. "You've heard of the term 'music aficionado'? Well, my ex used to refer to me as the prime example of a true music deficionado. It was embarrassing, really."

Eli winced at the title of ex-boyfriend. "But then, you idiot," he thought to himself disparagingly, "that's all you are to her now."

"Well, if you ever want to expand your musical horizons, you know where to come," Liam smiled.

Eli closed his eyes, anger boiling in his gut. Could this guy be any more obvious? Eli knew just which of Clare's horizons Liam really wanted to expand – and it sure as hell wasn't her musical ones.

"Thanks, Liam," Clare replied. "But, honestly, more committed men have tried and failed to educate me in the honorable discipline of music. I think I am just a hopeless case."

"Ah, Ms. Edwards, when it comes to music, no one is a hopeless case," Liam replied smiling smugly. "Unless, of course, you are a Ke$ha fan," he teased. "Then, I'm sorry, but I'm just not willing to take on the kind of serious intervention necessary to save you."

Clare laughed and playfully swatted him on the arm, before the two of them turned the corner towards the journalism classroom, moving out of Eli's sight.

Eli stood silently, not releasing his grip on the locker. Fuck! He struggled to control his breathing, closing his eyes against the tide of irrational anger building in his chest. Really, what had he expected? Despite all of his late-night, adolescent delusions, it was not like Clare was going to be so charmed by him during their tutoring sessions that she would be willing to forget everything and take him on again. No amount of quality trigonometry assignments would make up for all the terrifying crap he had pulled when the two of them were a couple. And, of course, other guys would be interested in Clare. She was smart and funny and beautiful and kind and, most importantly, sane.

But damned if he was going to sit around and watch her date someone else—watch some other guy sweep her off her feet. He had already been "lucky" enough to get a front row seat to her relationship with Jake, and that had just about sent him over the edge. Hell, who was he kidding? It HAD sent him over the edge – yet again. And from where he was standing, that fucking edge was just getting closer and closer.

Well, screw her! Screw her for making him think that he had a chance, when she only really saw him as some charity case to help through "his time of need"! She was probably only being nice to him to allay the guilt she felt over leaving him in the hospital alone and scared after his accident. In typical Clare fashion, she would get him all fixed up academically and then leave him again - leave him alone and broken while she skipped off into the sunset with that pretentious Jonas Brothers wannabe.

"Damn it!" Eli cried, banging his head painfully into the locker. He had to get out of here. Crumpling up the hall pass from his physics teacher, he threw it on the floor and stormed out of the building. He would deal with consequences of his decision to cut later. Right now, he just needed to escape.

* * *

><p>The minute Adam Torres walked into English class, Clare pounced on him.<p>

"Adam, do you have any idea what happened to Eli today?" she queried, worry imbuing her tone. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards her, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "One of the guys in yearbook has physics with Eli first period and told me that he left half-way through class, complaining that he wasn't feeling well."

"Well," Adam replied sardonically, patiently prying Clare's fingers off of his forearm, "it seems to me that you've answered your own question, there, Clare. Eli went home sick."

"But he didn't call me or text me to let me know," Clare continued, biting her lip in consternation. "I sent him a text at lunch asking if I should still stop by for tutoring, but I haven't heard back."

"Clare, if he's sick, he's probably sleeping," Adam assured her. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"But do I still stop by?" Clare mused. "Do I collect today's work from his teachers? Do I back off and let him rest? Is he physically ill or is this one of his depressive episodes? He has been pretty down lately. Should I let him know that I'm there for him or would that overwhelm him too much?" She stopped herself, working to control the timbre of her voice. "I'm just not sure what to do, Adam."

Adam let out an exasperated sigh. "Clare, I know that your history with Eli has been, to put it mildly, somewhat dramatic."

Clare winced at the accuracy of the description.

"And I know that Eli can still be somewhat unpredictable and, for lack of a better word, moody. But you really need to stop treating him like some delicate, little flower. He's a big boy, Clare. I know he doesn't always act like one, but he is one, just the same." Adam put a comforting hand on Clare's shoulder. "Don't worry so much about doing the right thing or saying the right thing. Just be a friend to him. Treat him normally; that's all he wants."

Clare smiled at Adam sincerely. "You're right. You're totally right. I'll collect today's homework, and, unless I hear from him, drop it by his place. If he feels up to studying, I'll stay. If not, I'll just leave the work and go." She knocked against Adam's shoulder affectionately. "How'd you get so smart, Torres?"

"It's in the genes, Edwards," Adam smirked smugly. "It's in the genes." They both paused and looked at each other, amusement coloring their faces.

"Step-brothers, Clare," Adam reminded her with a cynical grin. "Drew and I don't literally share any genes."

"Ah well, then," Clare conceded smiling, "your argument stands, councilor."

* * *

><p>A sharp knock on Eli's door woke him from a fitful sleep.<p>

"Eli, honey," CeCe's voice called. "Clare's downstairs. She wants to know if you are still up for tutoring or if she should just leave the work for you to do at a later time."

Eli groaned and rolled over in bed. He should have texted Clare and canceled the stupid tutoring appointment. But, after what he had witnessed in the hall, he didn't want to have any contact with her - electronic or otherwise. He was furious at her –- furious that she had, once again, gotten his hopes up –- furious that she had successfully played him yet again. When was he going to learn that all Clare Edwards could offer him was disappointment and heartache?

"Eli?" CeCe questioned. The doorknob turned, and his mother peeked her head inside. "Honey? Are you feeling OK? Do you want me to tell Clare that you're just not up to working today?"

"No," Eli croaked. "I'll go talk to her." He didn't really have the energy to initiate a fight with Clare, but a big part of him wanted to see her face when he called her out on her treachery.

"Are you sure, hon?" CeCe asked worriedly. "You don't look like you're feeling too good."

Eli sat up and rubbed his face roughly with the palms of his hands. "I'm fine, Mom."

"All right," CeCe conceded. "Only, Eli, try to be nice to her, OK?"

Eli shook his head in annoyance. "What are you talking about, Mom?"

CeCe cleared her throat anxiously. "I just mean that, lately, Eli, honey, you've been a little down –- a little short with people — a little on edge. It's totally understandable. Downswings are part and parcel of a bipolar disorder, even with medication. But, just remember that Clare is helping you out of the goodness of her heart. Try not to piss her off too much, Baby Boy."

"For God's sake, Mom!"

"I know, I know," CeCe acknowledged. "As your mother, I'm not supposed to have a say in your love life, but, from an outside perspective …"

"Mom!" Eli cried, holding up his hands. "Just stop! Clare and I are not a couple. She is no longer a part of my love life. That chapter is over – it's done – it's completed— it's …"

"Fine, Eli," CeCe interjected, her own voice showing a bit of annoyance in response to Eli's sharp tone. "Just be nice to her. That's all I ask."

"I don't know why you think I won't be nice to her," Eli grumbled, launching himself off of the bed and running a hand through his hair. He brushed past CeCe in a huff and barreled down the stairs, stopping at the entryway to the dining room.

Clare sat at the dining room table, diligently writing in her notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration. She had kicked off one of her shoes and had her sock-clad leg draped over one of the empty, dining room chairs – her uniform skirt riding up well past her knee.

Eli gulped and gruffly cleared his throat.

Clare turned. "Hey," she said, softly smiling. "Missed you in English today. How are you feeling?"

Eli pressed his lips together tersely in an attempt to control his emotions. "I'm fine," he replied. "I just needed a break from school."

"Oh," Clare said uncomfortably. She gestured to the pile of papers on the table. "Well, I brought you your work from today."

"You didn't have to do that," Eli said flatly.

"Well, you know me," Clare tried to tease, "always the over-achiever."

"Yeah," Eli agreed dully, rolling his eyes. "You've used that joke before." He breathed out in exasperation.

Sensing the clear tension in the room, Clare nervously started to gather her things. "Well, I guess if you cut school today to give yourself a break from academics, the last thing you want to do this afternoon is to study." Her foot searched desperately under the table for her missing shoe. "We can always catch up tomorrow or something," she continued, still scrabbling for the wayward footwear.

"Actually," Eli said, stressing each syllable with acidity, "I don't think I'll be in the mood for studying tomorrow either."

Clare stopped her frantic search and looked at Eli, her mouth agape. "What?"

"I said that I'm pretty sure that I will be taking a break from academics tomorrow too," Eli spat out. "In fact, I'm really not sure when I will feel up to studying again. You know me - hot one day, cold the next."

Clare's face colored in confusion. "OK, then," she remarked. She met his gaze steadily. "Why don't you just let me know when your vacation from all things academic is over," she said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"Don't be mad, Clare," Eli mocked, taking in her flustered appearance—the indignant blush of her cheeks, her tightly controlled expression. "Just think of all the free time that will open up for you now that you are no longer tutoring me. You will have plenty of time to meet your friends at The Dot or, I don't know, go listen to British New Wave with pompous dorks who don't know the first thing about good music."

"What are you…?" Clare began in amazement. "How did you …?"

"It doesn't matter, does it?" Eli said shortly. "This," he pointed between the two of them, "is just not working out."

Clare pushed her chair back violently and stood up, ignoring the fact that she was wearing only one shoe and was thus slightly off balance. "How is this," she mocked his gesture, pointing between the two of them dramatically, "not working out, Eli?" she cried. "Please, tell me. Because it seems to me that you are almost caught up in all of your classes. It seems to me that this," again she gestured between the two of them sarcastically, "is actually a raging success."

"Yes," Eli said, his voice rising. "I am almost caught up in my classes. And what is going to happen when I am fully caught up?"

"What are you talking about?" Clare challenged, trying to balance her weight between her uneven legs, her eyes ablaze.

"What's going to happen when your community service is over, Clare?" Eli asked spitefully. "What's going to happen when you've completed your good deed and helped one of the poor, mentally unstable youths of Toronto? Are we still going to hang out? Are we still going to pretend that we can be friends?"

Comprehension dawned on Clare, and she raised her hand to her forehead in a gesture of frustrated exhaustion. "Eli, have you taken your medicine today?"

Eli rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Yes, Clare, I've taken my goddamned medicine."

"And what did your therapist have to say about this recent low mood swing at today's appointment?"

Eli turned his gaze towards the floor, unwilling to tell her that he had blown off his afternoon therapy session. "Nothing of any consequence," he said noncommittally.

"Look," Clare said, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "I know things haven't been easy for you lately. I know that you are currently on a downswing or whatever the psychological term for it is. But, Eli, we are making real progress here. You don't want to throw it all away because you are going through a low cycle."

"You don't KNOW anything about me, Clare!" Eli cried, his face white with anger. "Nothing! You have no idea what I go through on a daily basis!"

He approached her, his mouth set in a cruel smirk. "You have no idea what it is like to feel this empty void inside of you," he gestured to his chest, "– this void that wants to swallow you whole." He paused, looking intensely at Clare. "And you want to know the truly frightening thing, Clare? You get to the point where you want it to swallow you; you want it to put you out of your goddamned misery, once and for all!"

He continued to glare at Clare, all of his resentment and bitterness pouring out in his gaze. "You have no idea how hard it is to get up in the morning and go through the motions, when all you want to do is barricade yourself in your room and never have to deal with anyone ever again. You have no idea, Clare, - no fucking idea!" He rubbed his eyes viciously and stared at Clare, hating her for her kindness - for her compassion - for her normalcy. "You think you can waltz in here and make my life better with some color-coded charts and positive affirmations? You think you can pat me on the head and tell me 'good job!' and then everything in my life will suddenly be all smiles and rainbows? Jesus Christ, Clare, how naïve can you get?"

Clare drew back her head and closed her eyes as if she had been slapped. Stooping down, she rummaged under the table until she found her missing shoe, stuffing it on her foot. She grabbed her coat and started shoving her arms into it.

"Fine, Eli," she said tensely, her voice low. "If this is how you want it, I'll play along. I'll play the villain yet again, and you can play the misunderstood hero. But I'll tell you this - it's getting old, Eli. Maybe you ought to think about finding some new material. You are a writer after all."

She started furiously stuffing papers and notebooks into her book bag. "Tell CeCe goodbye for me." She stopped her frantic motions and looked at Eli. "I'd tell her myself, but I think it's best if I just go."

"Wow! Shocking!" Eli hissed bitterly. "Things get a little rough, and Clare Edwards is the first one to abandon ship. I must say, I'm not at all surprised."

Clare opened her mouth to protest, but Eli was too quick.

"Just fucking go, Clare," Eli spat out, swinging out his arm and pointing vehemently towards the door. "That's what you're good at – leaving people in their time of need."

Clare's eyes grew wide, her face flushing in emotion. "What are you trying to imply, Eli?" she asked, her voice cold.

"I'm not trying to IMPLY anything, Clare!" Eli cried in anger. "We both know what you did! We were both there in that hospital room after the accident!"

He watched Clare's face react in shock at the mention of the accident. But he didn't care. He was just so angry –- so angry at everything. He just wanted to make her feel as bad as he felt –- to make her hurt like he had hurt - like he was hurting now.

He walked closer to Clare, clenching his fists to prevent his hands from shaking. "You knew I was messed up! You knew that I needed you! But you didn't care! You didn't give a shit! You just left me! I begged you not to go, but you ran away! You left me there in that goddamn hospital room by myself!" Eli turned and slammed his fist on the table causing Clare to flinch and step back a pace.

He knew he was taking things too far, but he couldn't stop the bitter pain and anger from bubbling forth in a poisonous torrent.

"You make yourself out to be so compassionate, Clare – such a paragon of Christian charity," he continued acidly. "But you're just a fraud, really. This whole St. Clare thing is just a sweet, candy coating hiding a heartless center. In the end, you really don't give a crap about anyone except yourself; and you certainly have never given a crap about me! You've made that infinitely clear, time and time again."

He stood there, breathing hard, the anger and frustration emanating from him in noxious waves.

Stunned, Clare closed her eyes; her face white with shock. Stoically, she blinked back the hot tears that threatened to spill from her eyes and inhaled sharply.

Carefully controlling her quaking limbs, she raised her head with as much dignity as she could muster and looked him in the eye. "Fuck you, Eli," she whispered shakily. She then turned on her heel, grabbed her book bag, and walked out of the door, letting it slam behind her with finality.


	8. Tick Tick Boom

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 8**

**Tick, Tick, Boom**

**Holy moly! I thought for sure I would lose a few readers with that last chapter since it was such a "super bummer;" but you guys came through. Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your support. **

**Want to listen to an amazing band? Listen to The Hives. Seriously, their song "Tick, Tick, Boom" will have you dancing in the grocery store aisles (if the grocery store you frequent is cool enough to play The Hives – which, sadly, mine is not). **

**I do not own **_**Degrassi**_** or any of the characters associated with it.**

* * *

><p>Eli stood motionless, trying to process what had just happened. His anger had subsided as quickly as it had come, leaving the hollow, bitter aftertaste of regret. Had he really just called Clare a fraud and accused her of being heartless and selfish? Had she really just told him to fuck off?<p>

Oh shit, what had he done?

Praying that he could catch her before she reached the bus stop, Eli sprinted out of the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

It was freezing outside, the cold immediately seeping through his thin t-shirt and jeans. But Eli didn't even register the change in temperature. He just put his head down and focused on getting to Clare before it was too late.

The soles of his beat-up Vans slapped against the sidewalk, and he pumped his arms in a feeble attempt at speed. Crap, he was weak! Ever since the accident, he had resignedly let himself go, and now he was suffering the consequences.

He turned the corner and saw her. She was walking briskly, head held high, resolutely fixated on getting to her destination which, Eli assumed, was the bus stop.

"Clare!" Eli called, gasping for breath.

She didn't even turn around. In fact, she quickened her pace.

"Clare!" Eli tried again, increasing his speed with his last ounce of strength. He reached out and grabbed her arm. "Clare, wait," he panted.

Furiously, she shook his hand off of her and continued her forward progression.

"Clare, please, let me explain," Eli tried again, his voice ragged and hoarse from exertion.

"No!" she cried. She suddenly stopped, whirling around to face him. "You do not get to explain! You do not get to talk to me!" She turned forward and started walking again at a brisk pace.

"Please, Clare," Eli begged, his voice shaky.

"Oh, don't 'please, Clare,' me," she said acidly. She turned to face him, her expression taking on a heartbreakingly cold look. "You shouldn't be wasting your time on me, Eli, when you have so many other loyal and true friends – friends who won't abandon you in your time of need – friends who will always be there for you." She narrowed her eyes and sarcastically spit out, "Haven't you heard, Eli? I'm just a fraud."

She stopped and looked down at herself in a mock appraisal, peeking under the front of her coat sarcastically. "Nope! No compassion here. Just selfishness and self-righteous pretense."

"Clare, I… I didn't mean…" Eli tried to explain.

"Oh, I think you meant exactly what you said, Eli," Clare replied softly with an edge to her voice. "Now, if you will excuse me, I need to get back to my own sanctimoniously selfish life. I can't keep up this 'charade' of caring about you – of caring about your health and your grades and your future any longer. It's taking away from all of my precious 'me time.'" She turned and once more started walking towards the bus stop.

"Clare, I was out of line," Eli pleaded, following behind her doggedly. "Please, can we just talk about this? We've never really talked about everything that happened before the accident… and after the accident. Hell, we haven't even talked about the accident, itself!" He increased his pace and moved in front of her, awkwardly stumbling backwards in order to continue his appeal face to face.

"I think it would be good for us to talk – to lay everything out on the table, once and for all. Obviously, there are a lot of … uh… unresolved feelings surrounding that time in our history. It's clear that I still have some … um… issues that I haven't dealt with. Maybe we could just go back to my house and have an honest talk – an honest discussion. Please, Clare." Eli realized he was babbling. However, he also knew that if he let Clare walk away now, the damage to their relationship, however tentative their relationship was at this juncture, would be irreparable.

Clare blew out an exasperated breath and pushed past him. "I really don't feel like talking to you right now, Eli," she said. "Call me selfish - oh, wait! You already did!"

"Clare, I'm not going to pretend that you leaving me in the hospital didn't hurt me," Eli said desperately. "But it was completely unfair of me to call you selfish."

Mustering up his courage, he grabbed her by the arm and turned her to face him. "Clare, you are the kindest, most compassionate person I know," he said sincerely. "I mean that. I truly do."

Clare closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, trying to hold in her emotions.

Eli took a deep breath and continued hoarsely. "That's why I have such a difficult time with the fact that you left me in that hospital. That's why I just can't understand why you jumped into a relationship with another guy immediately after our break-up. It just… it just didn't make sense to me – it still doesn't make sense to me, knowing what I know about you and your ideals and beliefs." Eli cleared his throat, his voice breaking earnestly.

"I guess if I'm being honest, it still hurts me to think that I meant so little to you that you would do that to me. And I'm scared to death that you will do it to me again. That's why I said all those horrible things back at my house. That's why I pushed you away."

Clare's eyes widened in shock, her expression coldly tightening. She looked at Eli unbelievingly. "How dare you say that to me," she whispered, venom marking her quiet tone.

Eli released her and stepped back stunned by the brutality contained in her voice.

"How dare you make me out to be the bad guy in all of this! You want to cast me as the villain again, Eli? Well, screw you! Screw you! " Her voice rose in pitch, her cheeks flushing with emotion. "You think that you didn't mean anything to me? Are you kidding me, Eli?" She turned and started furiously walking again, only to whirl around and face Eli, her eyes alight with anger.

"I supported you when you told me about Julia. I was the one who sought you out after you coldly rejected me without explanation. I was the one who fought for our relationship. You needed time, so I gave you time – all the time that you needed to figure things out – no pressure from me. That's 'how little' you meant to me, Eli." She glared at him, biting her lip to try to keep herself in check.

"I stood by you, even when you wouldn't let that idiotic, testosterone-fueled feud with Fitz go and almost ended up getting us both killed," she continued, her voice high and tightly controlled. "My friends thought I was completely insane for taking you back after Vegas Night, but I didn't listen to them - that's how 'little' you meant to me."

She angrily swiped at the tears that had started to fall down her cheeks. "I supported you after your panic attack when you publically yelled at me for cleaning out your locker. I supported you when you told me about your hoarding problem. I stood by you through all of that - all the break-downs, all the anger, even though it was so obviously clear that you were still not over Julia."

She shook her head vehemently, blinking back the remaining tears. "I stood by you in the midst of your paranoia over Fitz – when you got progressively more clingy and intense." She looked at him, her eyes clouding with the memory.

"Do you remember how you treated me during that time? Do you remember, Eli? You attacked me for being naïve and susceptible; you attacked me for my beliefs, or as you called them, 'my weakness.' You basically insinuated that I was so stupid and gullible that I couldn't take care of myself and then you went ahead and assigned yourself as my protector. But I tolerated it. Heck, I even apologized to you, even though I did nothing wrong - that's how 'little' you meant to me."

She slowly approached him, her gaze penetrating. "You're scared of what I will do to you? YOU'RE scared? Do you know how scary it was for me those last few weeks of our relationship?" she asked, her voice quietly powerful. "Do you even realize how frightened I was, Eli?"

Eli winced and swallowed. He knew he had put Clare through some really crazy shit. But he was sick! He wasn't himself! It wasn't his fault!

Clare shook her head sadly. "I was terrified all the time at the end. I couldn't talk to you without worrying that I would set you off. I had to constantly monitor what I said - what I did - how I responded - just to try to keep you calm." She closed her eyes remembering. "God, Eli, you wrote a story about a guy who slits his girlfriend's throat and drinks her blood so that they can always be together and then you gleefully tell me that the story is all about me. How am I supposed to take that?" Her voice broke, but she bit her lip and fought to steady it.

"And then before I can even process the fact that our relationship was starting to deteriorate – starting to morph into something completely unhealthy - you start behaving even more erratically – keeping watch over me, belittling my other interests and activities so that I will spend more time with you, yelling at me." She shook her head and choked back a sob. "I swear, at the end, you were yelling at me more than you were talking to me." She rubbed the bridge of her nose and breathed in deeply, marshaling her strength.

"And then," she rasped out, her voice cracking, "when I finally got up enough courage to ask you for a little time away, a little space, you bring a gun to school – a gun, Eli."

"Clare, I told you, there was a completely innocent explanation for that…" Eli argued, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

"I don't care!" Clare shook her head, giving up her fight and letting the tears run down her cheeks unchecked. "With everything that had been going on – with your unpredictable mood swings and your intense clinginess and your temper and your desperate need to protect me – the gun scared me, Eli! You scared me!"

A plaintive cry broke from Clare's throat, as she tried desperately not to break down completely. She turned her back on Eli, her shoulders shaking with repressed sobs.

"You didn't turn off the phone, Eli," she whispered.

"What?" Eli croaked out perplexed. He harshly pressed his hands to his eyes in an attempt to keep himself from crying.

She turned to face him. "When I was at the dance. After you yelled at me and accused me of ripping your heart out – after you told me you were going to get rid of Morty because you loved me – you didn't end the call."

"I... I…," Eli stuttered, his mind flashing back to that terrible night when his world came crashing down on him.

"I had to listen," Clare explained hoarsely. "I had to listen to the crash. I had to stand there and helplessly listen to the glass breaking, listen to the sound of the impact – not knowing if you were alive or dead." She closed her eyes, her lips trembling.

"Do you know that I still dream about it? I still wake up some nights screaming – convinced you've killed yourself because I went to some stupid dance instead of doing what you wanted me to do - because, according to you, I once again made the 'wrong' decision."

"Clare, I … I … wasn't in my right mind. I was sick." He blinked back the tears that were furiously gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"I know, Eli," Clare said sadly. "And I was terrified."

They stood silently in the cold of the evening, surveying each other, their heavily-armed guards falling by the wayside.

Clare cleared her throat roughly. "When you told me at the hospital that the crash was worth it because I had come, I knew that I had to get out – I had to leave you."

Eli grimaced; the pain evident in his face. However, Clare took a deep breath and soldiered on. Eli had wanted to talk. He had wanted to lay all of the cards out on the table. Well, she would do just that – damn the consequences.

"I know that you weren't able to see it then and maybe you still don't have enough distance from it to see it now, but, Eli, between your grief for Julia and your hoarding and your mental illness, you were in no condition to be involved in a relationship – especially in a relationship that would make you risk your life and crash your car. And you can call me selfish all you want, but I had to take care of myself too. I couldn't be in a relationship that scared me. I couldn't be forever second-guessing myself - wondering what you would do next –- wondering if something I said or something I did was going to set you off or cause you to harm yourself."

She reached out and placed her hand tentatively on Eli's arm. "I had to end it, Eli - for both of our sakes."

"But, Clare…" Eli's voice broke, and the tears he had been stoically holding back finally fell unhindered.

"You think it was easy for me to walk away from you?" Clare asked sadly. "You think it was easy for me to break-up with you? You were my first love, Eli. You, of all people, should know how difficult it is to get over a first love."

Eli closed his eyes, his body registering the impact of her words. Oh no! She did not get to go there – not after her behavior in the aftermath of the break-up – not after what she had done. Suddenly, Eli felt the anger return, surging through his bloodstream like fire.

"Yeah, right!" Eli cried spitefully, throwing off Clare's gentle hand. "I could totally tell that you were having a difficult time getting over me. Shit, Clare, you spent most of your time post break-up attached to Jake Martin's mouth!"

He laughed sarcastically. "Good thing ole' Jakey boy was there to comfort you in your time of need. Maybe that's why you never tried to reach out to me – never tried to check-up on me after the accident. You were too busy being consoled by Jake's own signature brand of 'grief counseling.'"

"I did try to reach out to you, you idiot!" Clare defended herself passionately. "The first week back at school, I asked you if we could talk. I wanted to talk about everything. I wanted to explain where I was coming from and make sure that you were OK. But you didn't want talk. You didn't want to have anything to do with me."

"I was medicated out of my fucking skull, Clare," Eli spat.

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Clare asked heatedly. "I couldn't force you to talk to me. I couldn't force you to tell me how you were doing. You told me you didn't feel anything. I couldn't change that."

"So you just decided to move on to saner pastures," Eli cried bitterly.

"Yes, I moved on to Jake," Clare said. "When my ex-boyfriend told me that he didn't want to talk to me and that he didn't have any feelings for me, I moved on. And you know what, Eli, I'm really sorry if it hurt you, I truly am, but it kind of saved me. After the intensity of what we had, it was good for me to be in an easy relationship – one that I didn't have to worry about. My father was, for all intents and purposes, gone. My mother was too busy living the single life to pay any attention to the fact that I had just gone through one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. Darcy was thousands of miles away in Africa. Jake was there for me. He helped me to forget about the guns and the knives and the yelling and the car crashes, and the guilt I felt about having to walk away from you. He gave me a little stability when everything else in my world was crumbling around me."

"Well, that's just awesome for you," Eli mocked. "Meanwhile, I was given the choice between residing in a numbing, medicated wasteland or in the fully unchecked chaos of a mental illness. And you weren't even there for me as a friend."

"Eli, you didn't want me as a friend," Clare said, her voice hard. "You made that very clear to me. Depending on your mood, you either wanted me back as your girlfriend or you wanted me to suffer for being the horrible villain that you considered me to be."

"That's not true!" Eli tried to protest, throwing up his hands.

"Eli, you wrote a play about me," she cried, waving him away when he tried to object.

"Yes, at times you cast me as the hero, but you also cast me as the villain, again and again. And regardless of what part I had in your drama, you knew…" Her voice broke. "You knew that I was uncomfortable with the entire school knowing the details of our relationship. You knew that the last thing I wanted to see was a play about us – that the last thing I wanted to do was to sit there and watch our relationship brought to life by the freaking Degrassi Drama Club. But you didn't care. You didn't even bother to change the names all that much. Everyone in school knew that play was about us – about me. I saw the way they looked at me. I heard what they whispered about me in the halls. And let's not forget that, hero or not, Clara started out as the naïve accomplice of a religious sociopath who was intent only on hurting poor Ari – that's what you thought of me! That's what you wanted the whole school to think of me!"

Eli hung his head abashedly, painfully remembering how good it had felt to vilify Clare in writing – how powerful he had felt watching his version of Clare suffer on stage. She was right. He had wanted her to hurt – he had wanted her to suffer.

Furiously rubbing her teary eyes, Clare continued. "And when I did show any concern for you, you threw it back in my face. God, when I suggested that you needed to take your medication – when I begged you to take it, you gleefully threw it the garbage can, making sure that I saw you do it." She rubbed her forehead wearily.

"Eli, you yelled at me repeatedly. You mocked my concern for you. You tried to get my boyfriend expelled with your plan to plant drugs in his locker. Does any of this sound like an appeal for friendship?"

Eli ran a shaking hand through his hair. His eyes were wet, his lips turning purple with cold.

Clare looked at Eli intently, wondering if she were saying too much – if she were pushing too hard. But this was it. It was time to lay everything out in the open.

"You didn't want me to be your friend after the accident, Eli. But, even if you had, I couldn't have been." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I couldn't have been your friend at that time, Eli; you scared me too much."

Eli winced; his body slumping, as if her words had levied a physical blow as well as an emotional one.

Suddenly the quietness of the night seemed deafening. It was as if time had stopped.

The two of them stood there, facing each other; the atmosphere around them crackling with tension and despair - with pain and bitterness.

"This can't be it," Eli thought desperately. "This can't be how it ends." Twenty minutes ago, he was ready for her to walk out of his life for good. But now the thought of life without Clare was terrifying.

He inhaled slowly, his lungs burning. He didn't want to hear her answer, but he was tired of not knowing – tired of always doubting himself – of always doubting her.

"And now?" Eli questioned, his voice cracking with trepidation.

Clare swallowed nervously. "I have to admit, you still scare me when your moods swing low – when you yell at me," Clare confessed honestly, watching as Eli's mouth turned down at her answer. She continued on hurriedly. "I'm not going to lie and say it's easy being with you when you are in the midst of a downswing. But I can also see how committed you are to getting better." She looked at him intensely. "You're taking your medication. You're going to therapy."

Eli winced again, kicking himself for blowing off his therapy appointment.

"You're catching up in school. You're asking for help when you need it." She looked up, courageously meeting his gaze. "You're really making an effort, Eli. And, as your friend," she softly smiled at him, emphasizing the last word, "I am really proud of you."

Eli exhaled noisily in relief, his anger and anxiety slowly ebbing away leaving behind a dull ache. "Thank you," he said with a sad smile, his eyes filling with tears of a different kind.

Clare pulled her jacket around herself tightly, a faint smile on her ravaged face.

"And, I know it's no excuse for my behavior," Eli continued, "but, my Bipolar Disorder aside, I really am sorry, Clare – so, so sorry." He looked at her sincerely. "I never meant to hurt you – or to scare you. When I think about everything I put you through, I just … God! I wish I could go back in time and take it all back."

"Thank you," Clare breathed. "And I'm sorry if I hurt you in any way. It was never my intention. I was just…trying to protect myself … trying to do what was best for me." She looked at Eli, her eyes pleading. "I guess I was just trying desperately not to lose it."

Eli laughed cynically. "Really? What does that feel like? That whole 'trying not to lose it' thing is such an unfamiliar concept to me."

Clare smiled a half smile in response.

Sighing gruffly, Eli ran a hand through his hair. "You have nothing to apologize for, Clare. I understand why you did what you did; I didn't really leave you many options." He shook his head disbelievingly. "Hell, I'm surprised you were able to stick with me as long as you did. You know, you don't look it, but you are pretty damn tough, Edwards."

"So are you," Clare replied her voice gravely serious.

They appraised each other meaningfully, both wiping their eyes and sniffling in the aftermath of the emotional onslaught.

"Oh yeah, we're super tough," Eli tried to joke, gesturing sarcastically to their tear-stained faces. He smiled weakly at Clare. "Damn! I already have the reputation for being emo; but what's your excuse, cry baby?"

"Hey, now," Clare replied, willing to play along and steer them into safer territory. "If you haven't noticed by now, I am a girl. And one of the benefits to having that moniker is that I am allowed a good, emotional break-down from time to time."

Eli smiled in response. "I'm glad we talked."

"I wouldn't exactly call it talking, but I'm glad we did too."

He paused, looking at her hesitatingly, afraid to share what was on his mind. "I have to admit, though, I'm still a tad bitter about the whole Jake thing."

"You and me both," Clare remarked sheepishly. She glanced at the ground to keep Eli from seeing the hurt in her eyes.

Unaware, Eli barked out a relieved laugh at her comment. "Seriously, Edwards, what did you ever see in him?"

She shook her head and forced herself to assume nonchalance, swallowing the ache once again. "You mean besides the fact that he's nice looking and fairly low maintenance as boyfriends go?"

"Pfft… totally overrated qualities, if you ask me," Eli shrugged.

"He's also pretty tall."

"Harsh, Clare! I never knew you had it in you to be so cruel." Eli smirked, kicking at a piece of gravel on the sidewalk.

They fell into silence, tiredly sneaking glances at each other.

"So, are we OK?" Eli asked, finally breaking the quiet.

"Eli, Eli, Eli," Clare teased, drawling out his name fondly, "are we ever OK? It is us, after all."

"Fair enough," Eli smiled.

He took a deep breath. "Would you … would you come back to the house with me and help me with my work for a little bit? I know I've been a total ass, and I know you have to go soon – but, could you just get me started? I don't want to fall behind; my tutor would kill me. She's pretty damn tough when she's not bawling her eyes out."

Clare rolled her eyes but smiled a resigned smile. "Can I ever say no to you?"

"Hell yes, you can – and do - quite a lot, really," Eli teased. "I'm starting to get a complex about it, actually."

They walked back in companionable silence, Eli affectionately bumping into Clare's shoulder from time to time.

It was such an odd feeling. He was bone weary - emotionally drained. Every nerve ending in his body was raw and painful; and the grey cloud of depression was still filling his aching head. However, for the first time in a long time, Eli felt strangely peaceful.

He looked at Clare's wrecked face out of the corner of his eye. She was here. She was still here.

"So," Eli drawled, gathering the courage to ask Clare the question he had been meaning to ask her before the fight – before his downswing; the question he had been meaning to ask her ever since he found out about the free tickets to the rock concert. Considering they had just concluded the biggest fight of their incredibly volatile relationship, this probably wasn't the right time. But, fuck it; he might as well go "all in." Hell, if he were brave enough to lay everything out on the line, he certainly could ask her to go to Vitriolic Youth. The worst that could happen was that she could say no.

He cleared his throat pointedly. "Your mom still won't let you go to rock concerts, huh?"

Clare looked at him perplexedly, her eyes still red and swollen. "Yeah. Why?"

"Well, it's just that Bullfrog's station is sponsoring this amazing concert next Friday night. And he has free tickets and backstage passes – the works." Eli swallowed nervously. "Adam's going and Fiona and maybe Imogen. It would be great if you could come along too." He smiled at her tear stained face. "Now, mind you, I can't promise that there won't be screaming and crying," he teased, "but if there is, it will be the good kind of screaming and crying."

"Are you sure that you're feeling up to a concert?" Clare inquired worriedly. "Just a few minutes ago you were planning on locking yourself in your room and shunning the company of men."

"Yeah," Eli shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "I still feel like doing that. It would certainly be easier to live a misanthropic existence confined to the walls of my bedroom. But, if I'm really committed to managing this goddamned disorder, I've got to look for other options." He grinned faintly and turned to Clare. "And I figure the best mood enhancer that's not totally illegal is pure, unadulterated rock and roll."

"Is that your professional, medical opinion, Dr. Goldsworthy?" Clare teased, a sly smirk on her lips.

"Yep. And I have to say that I've done the exhaustive and comprehensive research to back it up."

"Well, it sounds like fun, but I'm afraid that there's no chance my mother will go for it," Clare sighed. "We wouldn't want innocent, little Clare being corrupted by the Devil's music, now would we?"

"Vitriolic Youth isn't the Devil's music; not even close," Eli defended, aghast at the suggestion.

"Vitriolic Youth? Seriously?" Clare laughed. "Well, I give them points for decent vocabulary, at the very least."

"Hey, don't knock them until you've heard them. They are amazing."

"Well, unfortunately, I won't get the chance to hear their amazingness anytime soon," Clare said resignedly. "But I'm sure I'll get the play by play from Adam. You guys enjoy yourselves. It will be good for you to get out – to do something different. You certainly deserve a fun night."

It was too bad she couldn't go. It would be nice to say yes to Eli - to show him that she did want to be around him - to be his friend.

Eli wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. He didn't know why it was so important to him for Clare to go to this concert. Maybe it was because he had just come dangerously close to losing her for good, and he wanted to do something with her that would cement their friendship. Maybe it was because he wanted to get the chance to share one of his passions with her again—like he had in the old days when they would discuss Chuck Palahniuk or Milan Kundera or when he would take her to his favorite, vintage record store. Maybe it was just because he wanted to rub it in the face of that curly haired, music elitist, Liam. Whatever it was, he felt compelled to convince Clare that going to this concert was worth risking her mother's ire and, possibly, a month or two of being grounded.

"You know, Clare," he started hesitatingly. "You are, in fact, a teenager."

"Yes. I do know that, Eli; well spotted," Clare smirked, looking inquiringly at him.

"And one of the characteristics of being a teenager – in fact, one of the only benefits of this unpredictable period of time known as adolescence is that it is a universally acknowledged time of rebellion."

"Your point?" Clare inquired apprehensively.

"Well, I'm just saying … would your mother have to necessarily know that you were attending a rock concert?"

"You want me to lie to my mother and go to a rock concert - a type of concert that she has specifically forbidden me from attending?" Clare asked in disbelief.

"Well, I guess, if you want to get technical," he drawled, his smirk wavering anxiously, despite his best effort at indifference. Time to pull out the big guns.

"What better way to rebel against the stupid, antiquated, gender-biased regulations your mother has been imposing lately? I bet they would let Jake go to a rock concert. I bet they wouldn't even think twice."

Clare looked at Eli, her gaze thoughtful. This was true. There was definitely a double standard in the Edwards/Martin household, and, if your first name wasn't Jake, you always got the short end of the stick.

"What excuse would I give my mother? Newspaper meeting don't tend to run into the early hours of the morning."

"Could you say you were spending the night at someone's house?" Eli offered, a plan forming in his mind. Could he pull this off? Clare's defenses were low after their simultaneous meltdowns, but he had learned early on never to underestimate her.

"I guess so," Clare said uncertainly. "But that would mean I'd have to have a place to stay after the concert. I couldn't just show up back at the house at two in the morning smelling of spilled beer, hormonal sweat, and pot."

"Hmmm, Edwards," Eli smiled a genuine smile. "Are you sure you've never been to a concert?"

"Hey! I've heard rumors about what goes on during those concerts. And I'll have you know, I once dated someone who was a very committed concert goer," Clare defended herself cheekily, marveling at their ability to fall back into sarcastic, flirty banter so soon after such an emotionally draining prizefight. "Can I tell you how badly he smelled the day after a concert if I were 'lucky' enough to catch him before he had a chance to shower?"

"Damn, Edwards! Has anyone ever told you that it isn't nice to hit a man when he's down?" Eli teased. He paused, not sure if he should share his next idea. Aw, what the hell! He may as well go balls out.

Taking a deep breath, he barreled forward. "Well, what if you told your mother you were spending the night a friend's house but then spent it at my house instead?"

Clare's eyes grew wide, and she wrapped her arms around her torso in a protective gesture. What was going on here? Just a few minutes ago, she was ready to say goodbye to Eli for good, and now he was asking her to spend the night? A little youthful rebellion was one thing, but this was crossing a line – a line that she couldn't afford to cross.

"On the couch, of course," Eli hurried to correct. "Or, I could give you my room, and I could sleep on the couch."

Clare bit her lip and remained silent.

Eli started babbling anxiously. "Or, if you don't feel comfortable with that arrangement, maybe you could sleep over at Adam's or even Fiona's – she has a really big house and is constantly going on about her love of slumber parties." Eli cleared his throat nervously. "I just thought my house would work because it would be easy to get CeCe and Bullfrog behind any plan that entails teenage rebellion - no lies or explanations necessary."

Clare scrunched up her mouth in thought. She had to admit, the idea of tapping into her rebellious side was very appealing. Despite her burning eyes and the dull ache currently throbbing painfully in the back of her head, the emotionally intense showdown with Eli had left her feeling free - alive- almost powerful. And, truth be told, it was getting pretty ridiculous at her house.

Not wanting to step on Jake or Glen's toes by trying to parent her new step-son, Clare's mother had turned all of her strictness and discipline on Clare - becoming a sort of efficiently controlling uber parent. Clare's curfew was earlier than Jake's. Clare was restricted from dating while Jake was free to do what he pleased. Clare had to wait until she was seventeen to get her license, and Jake could borrow the truck and even borrow Helen's car whenever he wanted. It was completely unfair. In fact, Clare conveniently reasoned, it would almost be wrong not to rebel. Besides, what better way to show Eli that she was committed to their new friendship than to do something so entirely "Eli" and attend a rock concert with him. Heck, if he could work up the enthusiasm to attend a concert in the middle of one of his downswings, the very least she could do was to go with him.

"You do make a good point," she finally conceded, deciding to throw caution to the wind. "So, I tell my mother that I'm spending the night at a girlfriend's house, but, in reality, go to the concert with you and Adam and everyone and then spend the night on your living room couch?" she clarified.

"Exactly," Eli said, hope coloring his tone. He wrapped his freezing arms around his torso in anticipation.

"What a devious plan, Mr. Goldsworthy," Clare said finally, a satisfied smile unfurling. "I think it just might work."

She grinned thinking about it. It would be good to break out of the whole good-girl mold for one night – to let loose and really embrace what it meant to be a teenager again. Heck, as Eli rightly pointed out, Jake did it all the time. Why couldn't Clare do it too? In fact, why stop at just going to a rock concert? If she were going to rebel, she might as well really rebel. She might as well give Jake a run for his money. Who knew when she would get another chance?

She giggled, feeling an odd surge of power and control.

"So are you in?" Eli questioned, amazed at the fact that Clare seemed to be agreeing.

"I'm in," Clare agreed. "On one condition," she said, swallowing her fear and raising the stakes significantly.

"And what's that?" Eli asked nervously.

"If I'm going to dive into teenage rebellion, I'm going to dive in head first." She smirked slyly. "So we just might need your fake ID on Friday night."

"Why, Clare Edwards," Eli said feigning a shocked expression. "Whatever would your mother think?"

Instantly, all the power and exhilaration Clare had been feeling faded away. She shuttered as she thought of her mother's horrified reaction. "Good point," she said resignedly. "Never mind that last part," she hastened to add, blushing. "Just forget what I said."

Eli smiled at her affectionately, his mind excitedly sorting through all of the possibilities her suggestion entailed. "Don't worry, Clare," he replied. "Just let me handle everything. I'll give you a night you won't forget."

Clare colored at the implication of his words, but, looking at him, at his tear-stained face and frozen, blue lips - at his eyes alight with mischief and excitement, she couldn't help but smile back. "Great, Goldsworthy," she muttered teasingly. "Just what I need – another night I won't forget."


	9. Take Me Out

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 9**

**Take Me Out**

**So, I'm going to try this again and hope it posts for real. It showed that it posted yesterday, but no one has been able to access the new chapter. Sorry for the inconvenience. Fingers crossed that I don't lose the whole story or the reviews or anything. If it doesn't work this time, I'm just going to have to wait for the site to fix whatever glitch is currently messing things up. Sorry. : (**

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><p><strong>Are there any Franz Ferdinand fans in the house? If not, I must be in the wrong house. Seriously, listen to "Take Me Out." Once you go Scottish, indie punkrock, you never go back.**

**I do not own **_**Degrassi**_** or any of the characters associated with it. I also do not own**_** Footloose, A Clockwork Orange,**__**Pride and Prejudice**_**, **_**Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood**_**, or any of the works by James Joyce (who, like Franz Ferdinand, has a fascination with Ulysses). **

**I will try to get myself motivated enough to finish the next chapter and post it by the end of this week – which is a crazy-ass goal considering how long these chapters are turning out to be. But what can I say? I enjoy a challenge. Know what I enjoy even more? Feedback – just saying. ; )**

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><p>Clare sighed in exasperation and looked at her watch for the seventh time in five minutes. She was supposed to be meeting Fiona to review a draft of Fiona's history paper. But Fiona was almost twenty minutes late, and Clare watched in frustration as the blessed respite of her "spare" ticked away. It's not like she didn't have anything better to do than wait for the always fashionable although completely unreliable Fiona Coyne.<p>

As a junior, Clare was taking a full load of advanced year 12 courses and was constantly buried under the workload. Add to that her duties as an over-worked staff member of both the school newspaper and the yearbook and her voluntary but time-consuming tutoring obligation to Eli, and it was a wonder Clare could get through her day without her head imploding. Yet, here she was, wasting her precious time waiting for Fiona who had tearfully begged Clare to help her as if her very life had depended on it but still couldn't be bothered to show up on time.

A commotion at the front of the library startled Clare from her irritated thoughts. She looked up to see Fiona grandly sweeping through the library with Imogen close at her heels. The two seemed to be locked in a contentious debate, Imogen's pigtails bobbing vigorously with her heated remarks.

Regally scanning the library, Fiona's eyes zeroed in on Clare, and she turned to Imogen, effectively shushing her.

"Clare," Fiona purred, gliding up to the table that Clare had claimed and smiling sweetly, "thank you so much for agreeing to help me." She sat her designer book bag carefully down on an empty chair and pivoted her body gracefully towards Clare. "You really are my last hope at a passing history mark." Frowning prettily, she continued - her voice endearingly humble. "I'm such a dunce when it comes to history. And Eli swears that you are some sort of historical genius." She expertly arranged her mouth in what she hoped was an adorable pout. "If you will help me pass this horrid class, I will do anything. Anything, Clare. You just name it."

Clare looked at Fiona in bemused impatience. "Well, for one thing, you could be on time for our appointments. You are twenty minutes late, Fiona."

Fiona's blue eyes widened innocently. "Am I? Oh, Clare, I'm so sorry. It's just that Imogen caught me after fifth period, and she really needed to talk to me, and I guess that we got so involved in our argu … ahem… conversation that I didn't realize that I was taking away from our study time." She grimaced sheepishly and turned to Imogen, her eyes flashing in annoyance.

Undaunted, Imogen pursed her lips, effectively ignoring Fiona's ire, before squarely meeting Clare's gaze.

"Hello, Clare Edwards," Imogen greeted with an antiquated formality, holding out her lace-gloved hand in greeting. "Fiona tells me that you have agreed to help her with her history term paper."

Clare nodded, taking Imogen's hand with trepidation. She had to admit, ever since Imogen had planted prescription medication in her locker, the girl made her slightly nervous.

"Well," Imogen continued, "isn't that very helpful of you." She smiled benevolently down at Clare.

"Umm…. thanks?" Clare replied perplexed, trying without success to extract her hand from Imogen's grasp.

"Oh, no need to thank me," Imogen mused distractedly, finally releasing Clare. "It wasn't a compliment." She briskly turned toward Fiona, her voice suddenly ominous.

"I'll see you after school, Fiona Coyne. Remember what I said – it's always the quiet ones…."

"Yes, yes," Fiona interjected blushing, gently pushing Imogen towards the exit. "I'll see you later, Imo. No need to worry about anything."

Imogen swatted away Fiona's hand and somberly turned to Clare. "Good-bye, Clare Edwards." This time, instead of trying to shake Clare's hand, Imogen instead pointed to her own eyes, knocking her glasses askew. She then pointed to Clare in a gesture of warning made less powerful by her cock-eyed eyewear. Trying to regain the seriousness of the moment, Imogen straightened her glasses, nodded once, and departed, unfortunately bumping into the re-shelving cart in her effort to make a dignified exit.

"I don't think she likes me," Clare mused once Imogen had safely, albeit noisily, exited the library.

"Oh, I wouldn't necessarily say that," Fiona replied without conviction.

She rummaged in her book bag and pulled out her essay with a flourish. "Here it is," she declared proudly. "I took all of your initial suggestions about narrowing my topic and adding more source material." She pushed her paper towards Clare. "Now, mind you, it's rough. I'm no writer like you and Eli are." She looked at Clare, her eyes appealing. "Can you help me make it better? It's got to be good. I threw myself at Perino's mercy, and he agreed that if I got a B or better on this term paper, he would pass me, regardless of how I do on the final. " She smiled at Clare pleadingly. "Truth be told, I'm not really a good test taker," she admitted sheepishly, "so this," she held up the paper, "and you," she put her hand on Clare's arm, "are my only hope."

Clare patted Fiona's hand reassuringly and pulled the paper towards her. "Let's have a look, shall we?" Taking a red pen out of her bag, Clare started to read.

Fiona, immediately bored, started looking around the library. Would it be too gauche if she took out her phone? Yes, Clare was already miffed at her for being late. She better play nice if she wanted Clare's help. God, why was the library so incredibly boring? It was practically deserted this time of day. Fiona sighed as she took in the ancient librarian dozing at the check-out counter and the few random brainiacs furiously studying. Absolutely nothing of any interest. Oh well, maybe Clare would finish soon, and Fiona could go on her merry way. She was dying for a cappuccino and perhaps one of those lovely biscotti that The Dot had recently added to their menu. She glanced at Clare surreptitiously to gauge her progress.

Completely absorbed in Fiona's paper, Clare ran a hand through her curls in contemplation. In the wake of this gesture, Fiona caught a hint of the soft, citrusy smell of Clare's perfume. Was it grapefruit? Some kind of ginger and orange? Whatever it was, it smelled divine.

Intrigued, Fiona leaned closer, covertly examining the younger girl as she worked to edit the paper. How strange! How had she not noticed the subtle attractiveness of Clare before? Well, there was that time at the Sweetheart's Luncheon. Adam, her date at the time, had indignantly claimed that she had been shamelessly flirting with Clare during that ill-fated lunch. However, in all honesty, Fiona really didn't remember much of that day; she certainly didn't remember Clare Edwards ever being this… well … compelling.

Strangely captivated, Fiona narrowed her gaze appraisingly.

Clare's hair was a completely indescribable color – curls of gold, brown, and red tumbling together to create a multi-colored mosaic. The curls fell to Clare's shoulders, framing her face and contrasting sharply with the whiteness of her skin. She was all soft curves and light. In fact, there was something very Renaissance about Clare Edwards' beauty. And Fiona ought to know - Declan and her mother were big fans of Renaissance art and, at every opportunity, would drag Fiona off to some dusty, dark museum to get their fix of Raphael, Di Vinci, and Bellini.

Clare, sensing Fiona's gaze, shifted in her seat and glanced up briefly.

As Clare looked up, Fiona was suddenly struck by how blue Clare's eyes were – icy blue with a darker blue ring around them. They were almost other-worldly in their color.

Clare regarded Fiona inquiringly for a moment before shaking her head and returning to her perusal of Fiona's paper. Undeterred, Fiona's gaze slowly traveled down to the graceful curve of Clare's cheek, resting momentarily on the pink fullness of her mouth.

Furrowing her brow in concentration, Clare absent-mindedly bit her lip as she scratched out another one of Fiona's grammatical errors. At the unintentionally seductive gesture, Fiona closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, her head spinning.

"This is pretty good, Fiona," Clare offered moments later, startling Fiona from her thoughts. "It's much better than I was expecting it to be after all of your woeful complaints." She grinned at Fiona's disconcerted expression. "So, I took out the passive voice and strengthened your thesis. However, what you really need to do is flesh out your evidence more. Add more quotes from your primary sources, expand your analysis. Wherever I wrote 'add evidence,' try and find a quote or a specific detail from your research that would back up your argument. And where I wrote, 'explain,' you need to analyze your evidence – really show how those examples prove your thesis." She passed the paper to Fiona.

"Why don't you revise this, using my notes, and then I will look it over a final time before you turn it in," Clare continued. She smiled at Fiona reassuringly. "I think this has the potential to be a very strong paper. I've had Perino for history for two years in a row now, and I'm pretty sure I know what he looks for in the papers he assigns."

Fiona swallowed loudly, blinking a few times to clear her thoughts. "Yes… um…thanks so much, Clare," she said gratefully. "You have totally saved me from another failing history grade." She smiled at Clare shyly, "Eli is right; you really are quite amazing."

"Ha!" Clare scoffed good-naturedly. "Tell that to Imogen."

"Oh," Fiona tried to reassure. "Don't worry about Imogen. Imogen is just …well…Imogen."

"Yes, she certainly is," Clare agreed smiling in amusement. "Anyway, I better be off to the newspaper before Katie demotes me yet again. I swear if I have to write another article on the state of the Degrassi bathrooms, I will lock myself in one and refuse to come out." She stood and hefted her book bag over her shoulder.

Fiona gathered her things as well, hurriedly following Clare out of the library and out into the crowded hallway.

Once in the hall, Clare turned in the direction of her journalism classroom. "Bye, Fiona. Good luck with the rewrite. Call me if you get stuck or need any help."

"Bye, Clare," Fiona replied, surprised to find herself disappointed at the prospect of Clare's departure.

"Um…I'm so glad you are coming to the concert with us!" Fiona blurted out in a feeble attempt to stall Clare.

"Yeah," Clare smiled, turning back around. "Me too. It should be fun."

"Absolutely!" Fiona agreed enthusiastically. "So fun!" She smiled awkwardly, racking her brain for something more to say.

"OK, then," Clare said somewhat bewildered. "See you later." She turned to go again.

"Clare!" Fiona called, putting her hand on Clare's arm. She smiled her most flirtatious smile and grasped Clare's hand, "Merci beaucoup, ma chérie belle."

Clare looked Fiona quizzically before giving the older girl a baffled smile and finally taking her exit; this time for good.

In a daze, Fiona watched Clare walk away, Clare's hips swinging in a completely unintentionally sexy way.

"Hey," Eli said, coming to stand beside Fiona. He followed Fiona's gaze down the hall to a distantly retreating Clare. "What's up?" Eli asked curiously.

Not taking her eyes off Clare's departing figure, Fiona smirked. "You know when I told you I just didn't understand the power Clare Edwards has over men?"

"Yeah," Eli offered, confused.

"I totally get it now."

"Ah," Eli said understanding. "Pretty powerful stuff, huh?" he remarked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I wonder…" Fiona mused. She turned to Eli. "Do you think Clare would be up for a little slumber party at La Maison de Coyne?" Her eyes shone wickedly.

"Fiona," Eli reprimanded sternly.

"All right, all right," Fiona gave in, grimacing good naturedly. She turned to Eli with a smirk. "Elijah Goldsworthy, you are entirely no fun."

* * *

><p>Eli sighed and deleted yet another poorly constructed sentence. He had been working on the same stupid English assignment for almost an hour now.<p>

Clare sat across from him, completely absorbed in revising her newspaper article - this one on the Caf's decision to add more nutritious options to their menu. Apparently, a group of junk food loving students had gotten wind of the Caf's intended healthy make-over and were in the planning stages of yet another boycott.

Distractedly, Eli ran his hand through his hair and glanced towards the foyer where Clare's overnight bag sat in all its mind-blowing glory. Holy crap! He still couldn't believe that Clare was spending the night at his house. Of course, she would be sleeping in an entirely different room than he would be sleeping in – but still, they would be sleeping under the same roof. He shook his head, trying to maintain his focus.

"So whose house does your mother think you are staying over at tonight?" he asked, not able to turn his thoughts back to English.

Clare bit her lip nervously. "I told her I was staying with Hannah – you know, Wesley's girlfriend. I was going to use Katie – heaven knows I cover enough for her – but I figured she'd find a way to use the information against me."

"Probably a smart move," Eli conceded. He didn't like how Katie, the editor of the Degrassi newspaper, constantly took advantage of Clare.

Clare let out an anxious breath. "So your parents have no problem with me staying over? They know that my mother doesn't know, right? They're OK with it?"

"Relax, Clare," Eli soothed. "They think it's a good thing that you are finally breaking out of your 'sheltered, cookie-cutter life' and living a little. Actually, they think the real crime here is that you are sixteen and are still not allowed to go to rock concerts. In fact, CeCe is currently hatching a plan to invite your parents over for a movie night. She wants to show the Kevin Bacon version of_ Footloose_ and then discuss why rock and roll is an important part of the teenage experience."

"Oh God, no," Clare groaned, letting her head fall into her hands.

Eli laughed. "Don't worry. I'll talk her out of it – if only to spare them the horrifying sight of Bullfrog doing his own special version of Kevin Bacon's 'angry dancing in the warehouse' scene."

Clare laughed at the visual. "So, how's the essay on Joyce coming?" she changed topics, trying to calm her nerves about the concert.

"Slowly," Eli muttered frustrated. "I can't wrap my brain around the concept of artistic epiphanies when all I want to do is head bang to Vitriolic Youth."

Clare smirked teasingly. "Perhaps you are having an artistic epiphany of your own, my good sir." She pushed back in her chair, closing her laptop with a satisfied click.

"Well, I'm finished with my work," she sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. "It's not like I can concentrate anyway. I keep thinking my mother is going to call any minute and bust me." She grabbed her phone to emphasize her point. "I'll leave you alone with your musings on Joyce. Call me if you get stuck."

"Um… Clare?" Eli said nervously, screwing up his courage.

She stopped and turned around.

"Uh, I've been thinking a lot about what you said earlier – you know, about really embracing teenage rebellion."

Clare looked at him perplexed. "Yeah?"

Eli swallowed and hastily explained. "I don't want to pressure you into anything or make you feel uncomfortable, but I just want you to know that if you do want drink tonight, I've got my ID. I'm going to pick something up for Adam anyway, so, you know … if you want to …" his voice trailed off unsurely.

Clare inhaled anxiously. "Oh … um … I don't know, Eli. I'm already super nervous about this whole concert thing."

"Well, I just wanted you to know that it's an option," Eli explained. "I won't be drinking, so I could watch out for you – make sure you didn't get into any trouble." He smirked wickedly. "And it would help you to relax and not be so nervous. Trust me, there's nothing like a good buzz to make a concert truly epic." He smiled at her reassuringly. "But it's totally your call, Clare – no pressure."

Clare looked at him warily. "I'll … uh… think about it," she said, her voice abnormally high and thin.

"Cool," Eli replied.

He sighed despondently, looking at his laptop. "Well, I better get this damn essay done or our night of teenage rebellion will be in definite jeopardy." He shook his head in disbelief. "Man, Edwards, I can't believe you've got me doing homework on the night of a concert. You're totally ruining my rep as the dangerous rebel."

"I would think your recent penchant for wearing cardigan sweaters and cravats had blown that image long ago," Clare said sarcastically, her eyes shining naughtily.

"Ouch!" Eli grinned. "And my wardrobe takes yet another hit. Seriously, Edwards, I'm beginning to get the feeling that you take real joy in insulting me."

"Who me?" Clare asked innocently. She smiled teasingly. "Besides, I wasn't insulting you. I was just pointing out that if you are going for the whole 'dangerous rebel' vibe, perhaps you should stop raiding the closets of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Rogers. I mean, really, what's next, Eli? A riding crop and some soft sneakers?"

"Funny, Clare," Eli deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

"I try." Clare smirked at him. "Let me know if you need any help with Joyce."

Clare smiled fondly at Eli and, phone in hand, wandered into the kitchen for a drink of water. She was restless—nervous about this whole concert thing. What if her mother tried to call her when she was at the concert? What if her mom tried to call Hannah's house? And now with Eli's most recent terrifying suggestion, Clare couldn't help but feel that she was completely out of her depth. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should just leave this whole rebellious teenage thing to Jake. He was undoubtedly the expert at it. However, at the thought of Jake and the incredible crap he was allowed to get away with, Clare shook her head. No, she was going to do this. She was going to embrace rebellion. After all, she could be a badass if she wanted to. She could be a rebel. She could be … Oh, who was she kidding? There was nothing the least bit badass about Clare Edwards.

CeCe sat at the breakfast bar flipping through a magazine, a glass of red wine in her hand.

"Hey, Baby," CeCe greeted, smiling up at Clare. "Are you excited for your very first rock concert?"

"Yeah," Clare nodded, "and a little nervous. " She twirled a curl around her finger in an uneasy gesture. "I just don't want my mom to find out. She would kill me." She grimaced at the thought. "Seriously, CeCe," Clare implored. "If I get caught, I'm as good as enrolled in Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow's Catholic School for Wayward Girls."

CeCe laughed. "She won't find out, Clare; I promise," she said assuringly.

Deftly switching topics to try and alleviate Clare's fears, CeCe grabbed Clare's hand. "So, what are you going to wear tonight?"

"Um…clothes?" Clare answered puzzled.

"Well, good," CeCe smiled. "I don't think the boys would be paying any attention to the music if you were naked; and Eli really likes Vitriolic Youth."

Clare blushed a deep red.

CeCe chuckled at Clare's discomfort. "Breathe, Clare. I only meant - what clothes are you going to wear?"

Clare's eyes widened. "Am I supposed to dress up for a concert?" she asked anxiously. "I just assumed I would wear regular clothes. I don't remember Eli ever dressing up when he went to concerts," Clare worried, her voice high.

"Clare, relax," CeCe soothed. "There's no dress code." She looked at Clare thoughtfully. "You really don't get out a lot, do you, hon?"

She reached out to smooth Clare's hair. "I just thought that your plan was to break out of the 'good girl mode' tonight, and I wondered if you were going to change your look up a little."

Clare grimaced. "Uh… I tried that once," she admitted shamefully, thinking back to her time as gothic, bizarro Clare. "It didn't work out too well. I think I may have traumatized Eli a little – not to mention my parents." She winced at the memory.

"Well," CeCe declared, spinning around in her barstool. "Lucky for you, you are looking at a true expert in rock and roll, retro-punk, headbanger, fashion. An hour or two in my capable hands, and even your own mother wouldn't recognize you. Not that she will be at the concert," CeCe hastily added, watching Clare's face blanch and her eyes widen anxiously. "Clare, baby, take a deep breath."

Clare inhaled and swallowed nervously. "You want to dress me?" she asked shakily.

"Oh, Clare, I thought you'd never ask!" CeCe cried gleefully, her eyes shining with delight.

"Um… OK," Clare agreed, a bit daunted at the prospect of putting herself in CeCe's clutches. "But I didn't bring many clothes with me – just some jeans and a blazer…"

"A blazer?" CeCe cried, recoiling in shock. "A blazer? Clare, you were going to wear a blazer to a Vitriolic Youth concert?"

"It's a nice blazer," Clare defended. "It's navy; it goes with everything."

"Oh my sweet, little, innocent Clare," CeCe cooed, a wicked smile on her face. "We are going to have so much fun." With that she jumped off the barstool, grabbed her wine glass, and led Clare away like a lamb to slaughter.

* * *

><p>"Ouch, CeCe! Are you trying to reenact the behavior modification scene from A <em>Clockwork Orange<em>?" Clare cried pitifully, tears springing to her eyes. "Shouldn't you be playing Beethoven's Ninth Symphony or something?"

"Hush, Clare. It's just an eyelash curler. Pain is such a small price to pay for beauty."

"Not so small a price," Clare winced.

CeCe had been at it for over an hour now. Clare's face had been scrubbed and buffed and polished and moisturized and primed and sealed and bronzed and blushed until Clare wondered whether she had any skin left on her face with which to work.

She pressed her fingers flat against the make-up table, anchoring herself against the discomfort of the torture device that CeCe benignly referred to as the eyelash curler, being careful not to smudge the black nail polish that CeCe had so meticulously applied.

"Sweetie, has anyone ever told you that you have incredible eyes?" CeCe asked admiringly.

"Oh, one or two people," Clare squeaked out, her relief palpable when CeCe finally put down the horrible eyelash curling device.

"Now, hold still while I apply your eyeliner."

"Not too much, CeCe…" Clare interjected, only to be shushed by CeCe.

"Baby, when it comes to eyeliner, there is no such thing as 'too much.'"

"But, I…"

"Trust me, Clare," CeCe smirked, cocking her head and biting her tongue in concentration.

Clare fell silent and instead let her eyes focus on the outfit that CeCe had laid out for her on the bed. Oh dear God! What had she gotten herself into?

Finished with the eyeliner, CeCe dramatically brandished a mascara wand and started applying the first coat of mascara to Clare's eyelashes. "This is so much fun. You know, I always wanted a daughter – someone I could play dress-up with." She smiled fondly at Clare. "Eli stopped letting me dress him up when he turned nine. And Bullfrog only lets me dress him up on my birthday or on special occasions."

Clare guffawed and then bit her lip, trying to stifle her laughter. She prayed that she hadn't messed up CeCe's artistry with her sudden movement.

"Actually," CeCe drawled, "you laugh, but Bull makes a damn, pretty woman when he is all decked out. I think I have some pictures somewhere."

Clare couldn't hold back her laughter any longer. Her shoulders started shaking with poorly repressed giggles, and she desperately fanned her hand in front of her eyes to prevent any tears from falling.

CeCe, realizing the hilarity of the situation, joined in, cackling in delight.

"Mom!" Eli cried pounding on the door worriedly. "What are you two doing in there? Please don't tell me you've broken out the old photo albums. For God's sake, CeCe! You promised me on pain of death!"

The two women only laughed harder.

"Mom, I'm serious," Eli said, his voice tense. "Adam is on his way over. Clare and I have to go soon."

"Oh, Eli, honey," CeCe called, trying to catch her breath. "Don't worry. I'm almost finished. Clare will be ready soon."

"What exactly are you doing to her?" Eli asked uneasily.

"You'll see," CeCe replied. "Have patience, love."

Eli sighed and retreated from the door, childishly stomping a bit in annoyance.

"OK, my beautiful girl, I am finished," CeCe said moments later.

Clare tried to turn towards the mirror.

"Wait!" CeCe cried, grabbing Clare by the shoulders. "First you need to change. I want you to see the completed look – the entire masterpiece in all of its thrasher glory."

Clare sighed and got up from the dressing table, cautiously moving towards the clothes spread out on the bed.

"Are you sure these are going to fit?" she asked hesitantly, suddenly wishing for her navy blazer.

"Try them on and see," CeCe replied.

Clare shimmied out of her clothes, careful not to mess up CeCe's hair and make-up work. She was a bit self-conscious undressing in front of CeCe, but the older woman wasn't going to voluntarily give Clare any privacy. And it was CeCe's bedroom, after all.

Once dressed, Clare turned towards CeCe. "Is it OK if I look now?"

"Oh, Clare!" CeCe cried. "You look incredible." She turned Clare towards the full-length mirror on the bedroom wall. "Just look at yourself."

Clare stared at her reflection in amazement. She was wearing a black and red, pleated, tartan skirt that ended a good three inches above her knees and black knee-socks. A black, fitted, scoop-necked shirt with the logo of a band she had never heard of completed the look. Her wrists were adorned with black leather studded cuffs; silver hoops dangled from her ears; and a silver tiger's head charm hung around her neck, drawing attention to the daringly low neckline of her shirt. Her hair had been straightened, tumbling silkily to her shoulders and flipping up a bit at the ends, her bangs falling across her forehead in a graceful sweep. Her make-up was incredible – her eyes looking sultry and smoky, her lips bright red.

"Holy Moses," Clare breathed. "I look …" she trailed off, not sure what adjective to choose.

"Hot!" CeCe supplied enthusiastically. "Clare, are you sure you don't want to borrow my black heels tonight?" CeCe asked. "They go with the skirt so well."

Clare shook her head, still in a daze. "No, CeCe. I can barely walk without tripping as it is," she joked. "My Converse will have to do," she said, fondly looking down at her well-worn, black sneakers. She turned to CeCe.

"CeCe, thank you," she said earnestly. "I never knew I could even look like this."

"Oh, baby; it was my pleasure," CeCe replied, tearing up a little. "Now, come on. I want to see the look on the boys' faces when they get a load of you." She grabbed Clare's hand and ushered her out the door.

* * *

><p>Eli and Adam sat in the front room impatiently waiting for Clare. Adam was distractedly flipping through the channels on Eli's television set, as Eli paced restlessly. If they didn't get a move on, there was no way they were going to have time to make the necessary stop that Eli had planned to make before the concert.<p>

"So," Adam began. "I have to say that I'm surprised that Clare's mother relented and let her go to this thing. It seems like a very un-Helenlike move."

"Her mother doesn't know," Eli off-handedly replied, checking the time on his phone yet again. "She thinks Clare is spending the night at a friend's house."

"Really?" Adam queried in disbelief. "It's funny that Clare didn't tell me any of this. She just let me assume that her mother was OK with letting her go." He paused thoughtfully, cocking his head as a sudden thought occurred to him.

"So just where IS Clare spending the night tonight?"

Eli shrugged noncommittally.

"Eli," Adam cautioned, his voice serious.

"Fine, Adam. She's staying here," Eli relented. He gestured to where Adam was sitting. "On the couch."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Adam cried. But before he could initiate an argument, CeCe cleared her throat officially.

"Gentlemen," CeCe called from the doorway of the living room, trying her best at a British accent, "it gives me great pleasure to present to you – the belle of the ball – the rock n' roll Cinderella - the punk princess – the rebel with a damn good cause – Miss Clare Edwards." CeCe leaned into the hallway and pulled an embarrassed Clare into the front room.

Eli's mouthed dropped open at the sight.

"Holy shit .. um, I mean crap," Adam breathed, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. "Is that really you, Clare?"

"Is it too much?" Clare worried self-consciously, nervously smoothing down her skirt. "I have a blazer I could wear over it."

"Hell, no," Adam replied. He shook his head, a sudden thought occurring to him.

"Hey, can I get a picture with you?" he cried, pulling out his phone eagerly. "My gaming friends doubt my abilities with any lady who isn't animated. A picture with you dressed like that would shut them all up for good."

"No!" Clare cried distraught. "There can't be any photographic evidence of this night. My mother will find out, and then I will end up in an unmarked grave by the side of the road."

"Clare, I don't think your own mother would recognize you right now," Adam soothed. "You look… amazingly hot."

"It's all CeCe," Clare said humbly. "It's her clothes and make-up; it's her artistry."

"Baby, I just enhanced what you come by naturally," CeCe smiled.

CeCe turned to Eli who was still numbly staring at Clare. "What do you think, kiddo? Clare looks pretty incredible, huh?"

Eli shook his head to clear it. "Yeah," he rasped, his voice breaking. "You look beautiful, Clare."

Clare smiled. "Thanks," she replied softly blushing.

"OK, I say that it's time to get this show on the road," Adam cried excitedly, grabbing his jacket off of the couch. "A night of teenage rebellion awaits!"

"Wait a minute," CeCe called, going to the hall closet and returning with her black leather jacket. "Here, sweetie," she said handing the coat to Clare. She helped Clare into the jacket and kissed her on the cheek. "Knock 'em dead, baby."

"Thanks, CeCe – for everything," Clare replied hugging her.

"Now, Eli," CeCe cautioned, deftly switching to the role of concerned mother. "I want you to have a kickass time – but not too kickass. Be safe. Play nice. And remember, you are not supposed to drink on your meds."

"I know, Mom," Eli sighed.

"Your dad will be backstage, if you need anything," CeCe continued. She turned to include Adam in her cautionary counsel. "Now I'm counting on you two boys to look after Clare. Rock concerts can be pretty overwhelming, especially if you are not used to them. Watch out for her. Keep her safe." She kissed each one of them on the top of their heads, ushering them out the door and into the chilly night.

"Have fun," CeCe called, watching proudly as the three friends walked towards Adam's car. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she called happily after them. Suddenly, she paused, mentally running through the list of things that she wouldn't, in fact, do as a teenager at a rock concert.

"Wait! Scratch that!" she cried hurriedly, trying to get their attention as they climbed into the waiting vehicle. "On second thought, don't do anything that I would do! I mean that! Eli? Eli? Did you hear me? Clare? Adam? Seriously, you guys!"


	10. Drunk Girls

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 10**

**Drunk Girls**

**Here's to the amazing and tragically disbanded group LCD Soundsystem. Do yourself a favor and listen to "Drunk Girls" or "Daft Punk is Playing at My House." Funky dance punk doesn't get any better than that.**

**I do not own **_**Degrassi**_** or any the characters associated with it. I also do not own the incredibly intense and chillingly disturbing movies **_**Fatal Attraction, The Black Swan, **_**and**_** Hellraiser **_**(sounds like an awesome line-up for a movie night. Who's bringing the popcorn?). ; )**

**Thanks for all the support!**

* * *

><p>"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Clare asked nervously, chewing on her thumb nail and marring the black nail polish that CeCe had so carefully applied. She cautiously glanced out of the window of Adam's car, scanning the parking lot for hidden authority figures. Oh Lord! What was she doing?<p>

In a moment of weakness or, perhaps more fittingly, a moment of studpidity, Clare had decided to break out of her comfort zone and take Eli up on his offer. Truth be told, Clare's anxiety was getting the best of her, and she was desperately hoping that a small sip or two of whatever it was that Eli had hidden the plain, brown, paper bag he was holding would help her calm down enough to enjoy the night. Adam assured her that it would. In fact, he and Eli had solemnly promised that they wouldn't let anything get out of hand. They would watch out for her and make sure that she was all right. She would be totally safe in their hands. And, after all, it was supposed to be a night of teenage rebellion. And she was a teenager. And, heck, Jake did this kind of stuff all the time. And she wouldn't have too much – just a tiny, little bit. And, oh God, was that an undercover police officer?

"Hey, you were the one who wanted to take this rebellion in an illegal direction," Eli teased wickedly, trying to unscrew the cap on the bottle of rum he had just purchased at the inappropriately titled but wonderfully convenient _One for the Road Liquor Mart and Smoke Shop_ moments ago.

"Maybe it's not such a good idea, after all," Clare said worriedly, her voice high and strained. "I mean, if we get caught, it could go on my permanent record, right?" She frowned nervously. "I don't want to screw up my chances of getting into a good college." She gave a strangled squeak and awkwardly ducked down in her seat as the headlights of a passing car shone through the window.

The car passed by without stopping, looking for an empty parking space.

"Relax, Clare," Adam chuckled from the front seat. "I don't think they will throw the book at you for sneaking a rum and Coke before a rock concert." He put a calming hand on Clare's shoulder, "Now drink your pop," he said gesturing to Clare's fast food cup of soda. "You need to make some space for the rum."

Clare bit her lip anxiously but complied, rapidly sucking the soda through her straw and wincing at the onset of the subsequent brain freeze. Grimacing, she handed the soda cup to Eli.

"Not too much," she warned apprehensively.

"Clare, I've got this," Eli soothed, tipping the amber liquid into the plastic cup. "I'm just going to give you enough for a nice buzz. I don't want you so out of it that you miss the show or, God forbid, make me miss the show." He turned to her smirking. "Seriously, Edwards, if you start puking in the middle of their set, you're on your own. I've been waiting for months to see this concert." Using her straw, he mixed the drink, replaced the cap, and handed it to Clare.

"Here's to youthful rebellion!" Eli brandished the bottle of rum, clicking it against Clare's cup before taking a swig and passing it to Adam.

"Hey," Clare reprimanded, her voice tight in concern. "You're not supposed to drink on your meds."

Eli rolled his eyes. "Clare, I know. One sip won't kill me," he smirked.

Adam took a swig and handed the bottle back to Eli.

"Or two," Eli grinned sneakily, taking another gulp. He swallowed and vigorously shook his head back and forth before passing the bottle back to Adam.

"Ah! Much better," Eli gasped, his voice raspy from the biting liquid. Turning to Clare, he gave her an appraising look. "Drink up, you teenage miscreant. Doors open soon, and I want to get a place by the stage."

Clare tentatively took a sip of her drink, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar taste. All in all, it wasn't too bad. It tasted kind of like a spicy version of coke. It was almost soothing in a strangely astringent, throat-burning sort of way. She took another drink and smiled.

"Not bad," she said, beaming at Eli and taking a third drink—this one significantly larger.

"Uh oh," Eli said sarcastically. He turned to Adam, "We may have created a monster here, Torres." He grinned, "I can see it now. " Gesturing dramatically with his hands, he mimicked the tone of a cheesy, voice-over announcer. "Overcome with the addicting rush of teenage rebellion, Clare Edwards renounces her role as the good, Christian, honor-roll student and descends into a life of debauchery and depravity - trading in her pocket protector for a hip flask and her mechanical pencil for a bong."

"Shut up," Clare smiled, already starting to feel a comfortable warmth spreading through her limbs. "I don't even own a pocket protector."

Adam took another swig from the bottle and slapped his free hand on the steering wheel excitedly. "Dude! Can I tell you how psyched I am to see this band? I heard that their live shows are incredible! It's going to be epic!" He head-banged for emphasis and pretended to play the bottle of rum like an electric guitar.

Clare giggled and took another big sip of her drink. "You're so funny, Adam," she drawled, chewing on her straw.

"Ah ha," Eli smirked. "I do believe the effects of the alcohol are staring to set in. She thinks you're funny, Adam. Clearly she is drunk."

Adam grinned and took another drink, good-naturedly flipping Eli off at the same time.

"Ooohh … burn!" Clare giggled, her eyes dancing as she gazed fondly at the two boys. She smiled and took another gulp – amazed to find her worry and apprehension slowly ebbing away with each subsequent sip.

Eli grinned indulgently at her. "All right, you lush, finish up." He rifled in the paper bag from the liquor store and pulled out two airline size bottles of alcohol. "For the club," he explained to Clare, shoving them in his socks. "I can't really be buying you drinks inside – especially not with Bullfrog in attendance." He winked at Clare and continued, "When you feel your buzz wearing off, just let me know."

"You're so sneaky, Eli," Clare smiled fuzzily. "Seriously, you should teach classes on sneakiness or something." She paused, her eyes taking on a faraway look as she contemplated the possibilities of her suggestion. Eli as a teacher…all dressed up in a suit and tie…hmm…Mr. Goldsworthy…

"And…. you're good," Eli said, grabbing Clare's cup from her and staring to exit the car.

"Hey!" Clare protested, ineffectively trying to grab her cup back. "That's not nice, Eli." She tried her best to glare at him, but her face wouldn't cooperate. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's not polite to take a drink from a lady?" she pouted.

"Yep," Eli replied cheekily. "Let me know if you see a lady, and I'll be on my best behavior." He winked at Clare, jumped out of the car, and closed the door behind him.

Clare cocked her head and looked searchingly at Adam. "I think he was trying to insult me," she said indignantly.

Adam laughed and took a final swig from the bottle. "I don't think there was any trying involved." He grabbed his jacket from the backseat. "Come on, my lovely dipsomaniac; let's get this freaking show on the freaking road."

* * *

><p>The club was humming with activity. Music blared from the immensely tall speakers jutting out majestically from the stage – the bass thumping in a strangely compelling rhythm. It was as if the club, itself, was a living, breathing entity with its own steady, pulsing heartbeat. Bodies moved rhythmically in a fluidly erotic dance, as red and gold lights flashed in the dimly lit room, casting an eerily macabre glow over the assorted throng.<p>

"It kinda looks like hell," Clare observed, throwing out her arms in an all-encompassing gesture and spinning gleefully. "My mother would totally freak."

Eli grinned. "Good thing we didn't invite Helen, then," he replied glibly. Putting a hand on the small of Clare's back, he directed her out onto the floor and positioned her near the stage.

"Awesome!" Adam cried, shouting to be heard over the music. "I can't believe we got such a prime piece of real estate."

Clare looked at him confusedly. Why was he going on about real estate?

"Although, if moshing starts," Adam continued warningly, "there's no route of escape for Clare."

Clare smiled and swayed gently back and forth in time with the music. "Don't worry about me, Adam!" she shouted. "I can mosh with the best of them!" She looked at Eli and whispered loudly, "What exactly is moshing?"

The two boys laughed, and Eli, emboldened by the alcohol and the atmosphere, threw is arm around Clare. "Don't worry, Clare," he whispered in her ear causing her to shiver. "I'll take care of you."

Uncomfortable in the role of third-wheel, especially post horribly dramatic break-up, Adam cleared his throat loudly and pointed to the entrance to the club. "Is that Fiona and Imogen?"

Eli and Clare turned towards the front of the club where Fiona and Imogen were indeed making their way through the crowds of people.

Sighing, Eli reluctantly withdrew his arm from Clare. "I'll go tell them where we are," he offered. "I want to go get a coke and doctor it up for Clare before the show starts." He looked at her pointedly. "Just in case that buzz starts to wear off," he said with a knowing wink.

Clare and Adam watched as Eli deftly wound his way through the swarm of people. He paused to talk with Fiona and Imogen, gesturing to the front of the stage where Adam and Clare stood. After a brief conversation, Imogen turned and started making her way towards the stage, while Fiona left, heading to the bar with Eli.

Imogen approached them, decked out in what could only be described as a completely Imogenesque fashion choice. She was wearing a black and pink leotard with some smiling cartoon character emblazoned on her chest. A black tutu, pink tights, and combat boots completed the look. Her hair was arranged in a multitude of knobs springing out from her head and giving the impression that she was suffering from some bizarre scalp disorder. Clare blinked rapidly, wondering if the strange lighting was playing tricks on her. She hadn't had that much to drink, had she?

Imogen walked up to Adam and held out her hand.

"Adam Torres. How nice to see you again. It's been far too long."

Adam gave her a tentative smile and gamely shook her hand.

"Yeah..um…Imogen. Uh … good to see you too."

Imogen dropped Adam's hand and turned to Clare, appraising her critically.

"Hello, Clare Edwards," Imogen greeted. She smiled at Clare coolly, slowly taking in Clare's new look. Leaning forward, Imogen lowered her voice conspiratorially, "Nice disguise."

"Uh.. it's not a disguise, Imogen," Clare replied perplexed. Holy crap, maybe she had had too much to drink. First all the talk about real estate and now Imogen was going on about disguises. What was going on here? Clare blinked a couple of times and shook her head to try to clear the haze.

"Of course it's not," Imogen said meaningfully. She winked knowingly at Clare and, without another word, pivoted on her heel and sauntered back off into the crowd like some deranged prima ballerina – a cross between Natalie Portman in _The Black Swan_ and Pinhead from _Hellraiser_.

"That chick is certifiably crazy," Adam commented, watching Imogen's retreating figure.

"Shh, Adam! She'll hear you!" Clare cried loudly - her reprimand blatantly ironic since her ability to modulate her own volume had disappeared long ago.

"Good point," Adam replied, lowering his voice. "Best not to insult the unstable. I wouldn't want to come home and find my bunny cooking on the stove."

"Oooh! You have a bunny?" Fiona questioned excitedly, coming in on the tail-end of the conversation, a glass of sparkling water in her hand. "I simply adore bunnies!"

Adam smiled tolerantly at Fiona's lack of cinematic aptitude. "Uh… actually, I was referring to a metaphorical bunny, Fiona." He cleared his throat officially before launching into yet another of his classic film analogies. "In this scenario, the bunny stands for my innocence – my good intentions -my stability. You know, like in the movie_ Fatal Attraction _when Michael Douglas comes home to find his daughter's bunny cooking in a pot. Not only is it an act of shocking brutality, but it is also a chilling reminder that Douglas' character has forfeited his innocence with his decision to cheat on his wife."

Unimpressed, Fiona shook her head in impatience and rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I stopped listening at 'metaphorical'." Turning, she grabbed Clare's hand eagerly. "You look absolutely amazing, Clare."

Clare giggled. "Thanks, Fiona. You look pretty darn amazing, yourself." She narrowed her gaze and blatantly appraised Fiona. "Your eyes look really red with these lights—like you're possessed or something. You're not, are you?" she teased, her laugh turning into a loud hiccup.

Fiona grinned wickedly, taking in Clare's relaxed demeanor and slightly slurred speech. "I can already tell that this is going to be a fun night!" she commented shrewdly, arching one impeccably groomed eyebrow in significance.

"It certainly is," Eli chimed in, handing a drink to Clare and putting his arm around her possessively.

At his territorial gesture, Fiona rolled her eyes and harrumphed in exasperation. "Seriously, Eli?"

Eli simply grinned in response and tightened his hold on Clare. "Seriously, Fiona."

All of a sudden, the house lights flickered. All eyes turned towards the stage where the techs performing the sound check were finishing up and taking their exit.

"It's going to start! It's going to start!" Imogen sing-songed, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing Fiona and Adam by the arms. She excitedly jumped up and down between them, her combat boots hitting the floor noisily with her strangely manic pirouettes.

Clare felt the press of bodies behind her as the crowd tried to rush the stage. She stumbled a little, as she was jostled forward in the frantic surge. Eli steadied her, gently maneuvering her in front of him so that he could block the push of the crowd with his own body.

Even in the lovely, warm haze that she was in, Clare couldn't help but be aware of Eli's chest against her back, his hand loosely resting on her hip. Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly considering how much rum she had consumed, she didn't feel panicked at all by his proximity – by his touch. In fact, if she were being honest, it felt nice – comfortable - completely natural. She noticed Adam looking at her worriedly and smiled at him, trying to assuage his concern. He just rolled his eyes and shook his head in response.

With a loud popping noise, the lights flickered off completely, shrouding the club in darkness. People started screaming and clapping their hands in a wild ovation. Deciding that she should join in, Clare clapped her own hands together, laughing at the exhilarating sensation of being in the dark with hundreds of other people – feeling the sound and press of the crowd without being able to see anything. It was surreal, almost primal – this darkness – this raw, human energy.

A drum beat sounded in the black murkiness of the auditorium – some pounding, tribal beat. The crowd around Clare surged in response, yelling and screaming madly. A guitar joined the drumming – angry, strident chords that caused Clare to put her hands to her ears in shock, spilling a little of her drink in the process.

Eli laughed and carefully pulled her hands back down to her waist. "I have ear plugs in my pocket, if you need them," he said, his breath hot against her neck.

Clare turned her face slightly, smiled, and shook her head. She wanted to experience this concert fully. If that meant permanent hearing damage – so be it.

The lights flashed, and the lead singer took the stage, decked out in silver piercings and tattoos like some tribal prince from a far off land. Leeringly, he looked out over the pulsating crowd before raising the microphone to his lips and uninhibitedly screaming into it.

The crowd screamed back in ecstasy, and Clare threw her head back and laughed in elation. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so alive. Every nerve ending in her body was throbbing acutely - buzzing with the rhythm of the music – vibrating with the pulse of the crowd.

As Vitriolic Youth launched into one of their more well-known hits, Clare's hips started moving of their own accord. She didn't know if it was due to the alcohol or the music, but her body felt light, fluid - almost insubstantial. It was as if the being known as Clare Edwards had abandoned her corporeal body and had melded into this immense, pulsing, mass of heated energy.

Distantly, as if in a dream, Clare felt Eli's hands snake around her hips. She turned her face, just to check that he was, in fact, real – not trusting her senses in this hazy, throbbing, moment in time.

Eli smirked down at her, his eyes alight.

"Having fun," he hissed into her ear, his lips barely grazing her earlobe.

She grinned lazily and nodded, grasping one of his hands where it rested on her hip and giving it a squeeze before turning back to the band and letting go.

* * *

><p>She was fucking killing him. Ever since she had walked out into his living room all decked out in that short, little skirt and that ... um… form fitting top, Eli had had to consciously restrain himself. He had to keep reminding himself not to stare – not to touch – not to say anything that would get him in trouble or break the tentative bond of friendship that they had forged. It was incredibly hard – in more ways than one.<p>

And now here she was, dreamily dancing in front of him, her body moving languidly to the pounding beat. Hell, it totally figured. Eli had been waiting for months to see Vitriolic Youth live and now here they were, playing just a few feet away from him, and, like some love sick idiot, he couldn't take his eyes off of Clare.

He breathed in and tightened his grasp on her hips. God, he just wanted to pull her back towards him – feel the length of her body on his – put his face in the crook of her neck and smell her perfume. "Shit, Eli," he mentally chastised himself. "Stop being such a creep. She's your ex-girlfriend, for Christ's sake."

Fiona looked over at him and smirked slyly, noticing the position of Eli's hands. She nudged Adam, who looked over at Eli, frowning slightly.

As the band launched into another one of their brutally hard-hitting songs, Adam bent down and whispered something in Fiona's ear. She nodded in comprehension and danced towards Eli, smiling at him craftily before turning her attention to Clare.

Putting one beautifully manicured hand on Clare's shoulder, Fiona carefully took Clare's drink from her and passed it to Adam. Then, grabbing Clare's hand, she pulled the younger girl towards her and started dancing.

Clare smiled a lazy smile and gamely began moving in time with Fiona, her free hand boldly coming to rest on the inside corner of Fiona's shoulder, her thumb idly tracing the outline of Fiona's collarbone.

Initially ticked off at Fiona's usurpation of Clare, Eli couldn't help but be mollified when he looked over and caught the incredibly erotic sight of Clare and Fiona dancing together. In the sea of people, the two girls were only centimeters apart, their bodies moving in tandem. Clare's eyes were half-closed, her mouth turned up in a hazy smile as she gave herself over to the music.

Fiona was gazing steadily at Clare, her blue eyes alight and flashing. She released Clare's hand, and let her own hand fall to the side of Clare's ribcage, slowly slipping it down to rest on Clare's hipbone, pulling the tipsy girl further towards her in a fluidly rhythmic move.

Adam moved over to Eli, grinning as he watched the two girls dance. He turned to Eli and shouted, "God bless Captain Morgan!"

"A- fucking- men!" Eli shouted back, acknowledging the fact that, unlike Fiona, a sober Clare would have never dropped her inhibitions enough to suggestively dance with another girl in a public setting. He looked to the stage where Vitriolic Youth was going all out and then back to the dancing girls. "Best night ever, man!" he shouted to Adam, beaming in elation. "Best fucking night ever!"

* * *

><p>"Oh my God!" Clare cried, throwing herself on Eli's living room couch. "That was the absolute best night of my entire life!" Clare was drunk, but, in this case, she wasn't exaggerating. The night had been amazing – the music incredible. She had danced and laughed and yelled and cheered the entire time. At one point, half-way through the concert, a couple of guys in the front row had picked her up and hoisted her towards the stage where the lead singer of Vitriolic Youth had grabbed her hand and proceeded to sing directly to her. For a naturally confirmed wallflower such as Clare Edwards, it had been a truly mind blowing experience.<p>

And, after the show, they had been able to go backstage with Bullfrog and meet the band. Clare had tried to keep it together as much as she possibly could so as not to alert Bullfrog to her drunken state. However, she was pretty sure that Bullfrog had been clued in to her inebriation after her fawningly sloppy speech to Vitriolic Youth's bassist about how the band had completely changed her life with their amazing musicianship and their "super hot" looks. "Super hot - like molten lava hot," Clare had gushed.

But, in the end, it didn't really matter to Clare if Bullfrog knew about her underage drinking or not. Thanks to rum she had imbibed, Clare was currently in rapturous love with the entire world. She had even gone so far as to tenderly embrace Imogen at the end of the night, fondly patting the knobs on Imogen's head and declaring her undying affection and admiration to the startled girl. In fact Eli and Adam had had to literally peel Clare away from Fiona and Imogen when it was time to leave, as the thought of parting from her "two beloved girlfriends" was horribly upsetting to Clare.

Adam, having sobered up long before the end of the concert, had rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation at Clare's behavior. However, Eli had smiled indulgently – loving the incredibly rare sight of Clare Edwards finally letting go.

He looked at her now, sprawled out on his couch, her skirt riding even farther up her thigh and smirked.

"I'm glad you had a good time."

"Oh, Eli," Clare drawled, still nursing a lovely, warm buzz. "I had a good time at the journalism conference I attended last month. I had a good time playing Old Testament Bingo at Church camp." She sat up and looked at him pointedly. "Good time doesn't even begin to describe what I had tonight. Tonight was," she frowned, wracking her fuzzy brain for an appropriate adjective, "fucking brilliant!"

"Why, Clare Edwards," Eli teased in mock horror. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Clare giggled. "I do lots of things with my mouth that my mother doesn't know about," she quipped. "Oh, that sounded dirtier than I thought it would," she hastened to add with a laugh.

Eli felt his face flush, and he swallowed nervously. "Wow! Drunk Clare is quite a … uh...surprise?"

Clare frowned. "Am I acting like an idiot?" she asked concernedly. She grimaced remorsefully. "I don't mean to. I think Adam was getting a little tired of me there at the end. He kept sighing and rolling his eyes at me." She looked at Eli apologetically and waved her hand towards the doorway. "Feel free to leave me here and go to bed, if you want."

Eli smiled and grabbed Clare's feet, lifting them off the couch and freeing up a place for him to sit. "Clare, you are not being an idiot. You are wonderful - always – drunk or not," Eli assured her, settling her legs back on his lap, his fingers running over the pattern of her knee socks of their own volition.

Clare smiled in return. "You are so sweet, Eli – so, so, sweet." Her voice trailed off sleepily. She looked at him thoughtfully, her gaze hazy and intense. "Thank you for this," she said, gesturing grandly with her hands. "You know, I was kinda scared to go to the concert – to break out of my safe, little, 'Clare' box; but it turned out to be the most amazing experience of my life." She smirked knowingly at Eli. "You are always so good at getting me to take risks, Eli - just like Mrs. Dawes said when she made us English partners last year – just like when you made me write that letter to my parents or when you made me scream in public."

Eli sighed self-deprecatingly. "Yep, that's me. If you want to add a little risky behavior to your life, just call Eli Goldsworthy. He's as unpredictable as a car wreck."

Clare laughed good-naturedly, unable to comprehend the deeper meaning of Eli's remark in her altered state. "I'm so glad we're friends again," she said her voice suddenly thickly earnest. "I missed hanging out with you, you know."

Eli flushed. The conversation was getting a little intense, and the fact that his hands were currently caressing Clare's legs didn't help matters. "I… uh… missed hanging out with you too," he stuttered, smoothing one hand up towards the rim of Clare's sock, lightly grazing the skin of her knee. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the contact.

Unaware, Clare continued. "We were such good friends, Eli – like best friends forever! Only," she furrowed her brow sadly, "forever wasn't as long as I thought it would be."

"It never is," Eli said sincerely, throwing caution to the wind and boldly running his hand up and over Clare's knee. He knew he should stop. Clare was drunk; she was vulnerable. He should say good night and go back to his room. Now, if he could just make his body move…

"Oh, Eli," Clare cried, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. "What a stupid thing for me to say. I'm so sorry," she said, slurring her words into each other in her anguish.

Perplexed, Eli leaned over towards Clare, touching her face in concern. "Clare, what are you sorry for? Why are you crying?"

Clare gave him a watery smile. "You probably thought you had Julia forever," she breathed apologetically. "And now she's gone, and I just go and make it worse by stupidly talking about forever and how it doesn't last." She paused and gazed at Eli mournfully. "I'm so, so sorry, Eli," she said, her eyes shining. "I want you to know," she continued, her voice thick with drunken emotion, "if I could fix that for you – if I could go back in time and prevent Julia from dying – I would. I would do it in a heartbeat, Eli. Because you're my friend, Eli - because I care about you - so much."

Eli, who had been far too preoccupied with the feel of Clare's skin to have even been thinking about Julia during their conversation, inhaled in surprise. "Clare, I..." he faltered. He looked at her, her blue eyes alight with emotion, her mouth drawn-up in a tearfully sincere smile. It was too much. She was too much.

Not pausing to think it through, he tightened his grip on Clare's face, wrapping his fingers around the back of her head and drawing her face to him. He watched Clare's eyes briefly widen in surprise at his gesture, but then he felt her soft mouth on his and lost all rational thought.

Oh God! Eli felt the heat envelope him instantaneously – a surging, pulsing heat that spread over his chest and diffused searingly up his neck and face. He was drowning in the heat, suffocating in it, and he didn't fucking care. All he could feel was the smooth texture of Clare's lips on his lips, the hot press of Clare's hands on his back.

Moving solely on instinct, Eli pushed Clare further back against the couch pillows, pressing himself into her heavily. He could feel the outline of her body against his, the sharp corner of her hipbone, the delicate ridge of her ribcage, the softness of her chest. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he buried his face in the juncture of her shoulder and neck, pushing away her hair and inhaling her scent voraciously.

Unable to fully comprehend the rapid shift in emotion, Clare let herself be pulled into the intensity of the moment. She smiled a soft, lazy smile and wound her fingers through Eli's hair, drawing him closer to her.

Eli groaned and began kissing her neck, opening his mouth and daring to taste her skin. Shit, he missed this! He missed her! It had been so long – so goddamned long.

Clare's breath hitched in response to Eli's open-mouthed kisses, and her hands fell from Eli's hair and skimmed down his shoulders. She smoothed her palms across the wide expanse of his back and brought them to rest in the curve of his lower back, her finger nails scraping across the fabric of his t-shirt – setting his skin on fire.

"Clare," Eli breathed. He kissed her mouth again, sucking in her bottom lip, allowing his teeth to graze across it.

He felt Clare arch up into his embrace and couldn't help himself from moving against her – roughly grabbing her upper thigh and pushing himself into her. This was wrong – so wrong; but it felt so right.

He traced the line of her jaw with his mouth and then kissed down her neck to her collarbone, impatiently pushing the tiger's head charm out of the way with his tongue. God, he was drunk with her - intoxicated by her scent, her touch, the taste of her skin. Who needed alcohol when he had Clare Edwards? She was so beautiful – so willing—so uninhibited.

Shit!

Eli's rational brain kicked in suddenly. He paused, raising his face from the neckline of Clare's shirt to look at her.

She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her eyes were half-lidded, her gaze hazy. A pink flush covered her cheeks and bled down to her neck and chest. She looked at Eli confusedly.

"Is there something wrong?" she rasped, her voice husky with blatant desire.

Oh God! Eli inhaled sharply and sat up. He violently rubbed his face trying desperately to regain control of his body. "Yeah, Clare. There… uh… is something wrong," he choked out. He closed his eyes and groaned in frustration. "We shouldn't be doing this. You're drunk and ….um… still high on the whole teenage rebellion thing. You're not thinking straight. I shouldn't be taking advantage of you. It's not right."

"Fuck that!" his body screamed at him. It was right! They were right!

Too buzzed to take Eli's truncated advances personally, Clare smiled at him endearingly and reached out to grab his shaking hand. "Oh, Eli," she said, "you're always looking out for me. What would I ever do without you? You're such a good friend to me."

Eli winced in response to the dreaded f-word and shook his head at the irony of Clare's words. "In that case, maybe you should raise your standards on what makes a good friend, Clare," Eli remarked disparagingly.

With a massive marshaling of will, Eli detangled himself from Clare's legs and stood up. "I should…um… go," he said suddenly embarrassed and ashamed. God, what the fuck was he thinking? He had totally taken advantage of Clare. And, unlike Clare, he couldn't even blame alcohol. He was so fucking messed up.

"OK," Clare agreed, blissfully unaware of any awkwardness or tension.

Eli walked to the doorway of the living room. "Um… good night, Clare. I'll…uh…see you in the morning."

"Good night, Eli," Clare said, sitting up and waving at him from the couch. She smiled prettily. "Thanks for everything! It was amazing!"

"Yeah," Eli muttered truthfully, "it was amazing."

With a defeated sigh, he turned and started up the stairs; his body crying out in protest at every step.


	11. Head On

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 11**

**Head On**

**Speaking of amazing Scottish indie punk/rock, have you ever listened to The Jesus and Mary Chain? If not, what are you waiting for? Start with "Head On" - one of my absolute favorite songs. The Pixies did a pretty good cover; but, in my humble opinion, the original is untouchable.**

**I do not own **_**Degrassi**_** or any of the characters associated with it. I also do not own **_**Punk'd.**_

**Thanks so much for all of the awesome reviews. I can't tell you how much they inspire me.**

* * *

><p>A loud, metallic banging intrepidly wormed its way into Eli's consciousness. He groaned and rolled over in his bed, effectively cocooning himself in his blankets like some goth mummy. Burrowing his face into his pillow, he tried to drown out the grating noise but, despite his best attempts, only served to muffle it slightly. What the hell? He rolled over again in frustration, tentatively opening one eye to blearingly stare at his alarm clock.<p>

Shit! It was after 1:00 in the afternoon! He jolted up and out of bed, his adrenaline pumping. Clare! She had spent the night on his couch last night. More than likely, she was already awake downstairs – which could only mean one thing: she was alone with his parents. Oh God!

He scrabbled through the discarded clothes littering his bedroom floor looking desperately for his t-shirt. Bullfrog and CeCe were probably currently in the process of grilling Clare - asking incredibly inappropriate and highly humiliating questions about last night. Oh fuck … last night!

Eli sank back onto his bed weakly, the forgotten t-shirt clutched in his hands. Oh no – oh no – oh God, no! The night flashed before him in all of its horrifying glory - Clare all dressed up and dancing uninhibitedly – the feel of her hipbone in his palm – the warm softness of her mouth – the smoothness of her thigh. "Oh shit, Eli," he thought to himself, dropping the shirt and burying his face in his hands. "What the hell have you done?"

Everything had been going so well between him and Clare. After their no-holds-barred fight in the cold streets of Toronto, it hadn't taken them long to fall back into an easy friendship. In fact, if anything, their friendship had become stronger now that they had finally cleared the air and talked about the accident. Hell, for Eli, who had thought he had lost Clare completely after he had screamed at her and accused her of being a selfish fraud, the mere fact that Clare was comfortable enough to be around him again was completely mind blowing. Sure, in the back of his mind, he still dared to dream that one day they could get back together. But, even in his most desperate fantasies, that reunion hadn't taken place when Clare was three sheets to the wind on a vessel skippered by Captain Morgan.

Damn it! Eli was horrified with himself. He had liquored up his ex-girlfriend, and then he had taken advantage of her like some cheesy villain on one of those inane, melodramatic shows that they marketed to teenage girls. How the hell was he going to explain himself? Would Clare even let him explain?

Sighing defeatedly, he fell back on his bed. God, he was so stupid! What was he thinking? Well, that was the problem now, wasn't it? He hadn't been thinking – at least, not with his brain. He rubbed his eyes wearily, unintentionally catching a whiff of himself. Shit, he smelled bad. Clare was totally right on that count; he did stink after a concert.

Shaking his head, he stood and rummaged through his drawers for clean clothes. He would take a quick shower and then go down and face the music. Maybe he would catch a break, and Clare wouldn't remember all the gory details of the night. After all, she was pretty buzzed – which made his actions even more deplorable. Oh God, he was a horrible excuse for a human being! Poor Clare. Poor, little, innocent Clare. Poor, unsuspecting, naïve, sweet Clare. Poor, lovely Clare with her sweet, trusting smile and her beautiful eyes and her cute, little …Damn it, Eli!

* * *

><p>Freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a Rage Against the Machine t-shirt, Eli cautiously descended the stairs. The banging noise was still sounding intermittently from the back of his house, but he ignored it. He had more pressing needs to deal with – mainly finding Clare and humbly throwing himself at her mercy.<p>

Warily, he peeked his head into the living room. The couch sat vacant, mocking him with its empty cushions. There were no signs of the pillows and blankets that Clare had slept on – all trappings of last night's sleepover having been cleared away.

OK, this was not necessarily a good sign, but, after all, it was almost 2:00 in the afternoon. CeCe had probably put away the extra bedding soon after Clare had awoken.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Eli walked towards the kitchen. Maybe Clare and CeCe were hanging out; maybe they were having a late lunch or something. But, entering the kitchen, Eli was again met with empty quiet. He scanned the room, noticing three cereal bowls piled in the sink, a few soggy Cheerios floating in the cloudy remnants of milk. So apparently Clare had stayed for breakfast. But was she still here somewhere or had she gone home?

Oh God, what if she had remembered last night and stormed out, never to return again? What if she had told Bullfrog and CeCe about what had happened – about the awful things that he had done? But wait, surely Clare wouldn't have stayed to share a bowl of cereal with his parents if she never wanted to see him again. Right? Right? But, if that was the case, then where the hell was she?

The banging sounded again, and Eli, shaking his head in frustration, decided that it was time to investigate – or at the very least, time to put a stop to the goddamn racket before his headache got any worse.

Walking out the back door, Eli was met with the strangely disconcerting sight of his father up on a ladder weather-stripping the back windows of the house.

"Whoa, I must have the wrong house," Eli joked, looking up at Bullfrog. "What the hell are you doing, Dad?"

Bullfrog grinned and descended the ladder, hammer in hand. "Good morning, Sunshine," Bullfrog teased back. "I am, since you asked, currently involved in a home improvement project."

Eli smirked. "I AM in the wrong house." He pursed his lips together thoughtfully and pulled out his best British accent. "Excuse me, kind sir, can you by any chance direct me to the Goldsworthy residence? I'm looking for my father. He looks a great deal like you do, except he is not quite as adept at hammering. Although, in his defense, when Loblaws is having a sale on Molson, he does do an expert job of getting hammered."

"Shut it, smartass," Bullfrog grumbled good-naturedly. "Not all of us have the luxury of sleeping-in until all hours after a late night. Some of us have to work for a living."

"Work? As a handyman? Seriously, Bullfrog, am I being punk'd? Is Ashton Kutcher up on the roof?"

Bullfrog grinned. "Your mother has gotten it into her head that the weather-stripping needs to be replaced. Apparently, somebody on one of her damned, home improvement shows mentioned that, by replacing the weather-stripping around all of the windows and doors, you can lower your heating bill by 30% or something." He sighed pitifully.

"And she asked you to replace it?" Eli queried in disbelief. "Was she on crack?"

"Well, she wasn't going to ask you to do it, Sweetheart, – you might chip your nail polish."

"Harsh, Dad," Eli grinned. He shifted his weight and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Anyway, I was just coming out to find Clare."

"Clare left a few hours ago, while you were still getting your beauty sleep," Bullfrog replied, looking apologetically at Eli. "Her mom called and wanted her home for a family get together or something."

Eli let out a relieved breath. Well, at least, there was a reason for Clare's departure. She didn't leave in a huff because her crazy ex-boyfriend had taken advantage of her in her drunken state; she left because her mother needed her. Maybe he wasn't entirely in the doghouse.

"Speaking of getting hammered, Clare seemed just a bit out of it last night," Bullfrog observed, breaking into Eli's thoughts.

"Yeah, well, she really wanted to embrace youthful rebellion," Eli replied sheepishly, not meeting Bullfrog's eyes.

"I doubt that youthful rebellion was all she embraced last night," Bullfrog quipped with a knowing smile.

Eli's cheeks burned red. "What are you trying to insinuate, Dad?" he said testily. "Why don't you just come right out and say it?"

"I only meant that she was getting pretty cozy with the bassist of Vitriolic Youth," Bullfrog explained patiently, looking suspiciously at Eli's flushed face. "However, now that you mention it - what exactly did you two kids get up to after the concert?"

"Nothing," Eli muttered, suddenly developing an intense interest in Bullfrog's home improvement project. "So weather-stripping, huh? Sounds fascinating."

"About as fascinating as Great Aunt Dolores' slideshow of her Alaskan cruise for single seniors," Bullfrog quipped. He shook his head sadly. "That's three hours of my life I will never get back." He looked thoughtfully at Eli, "And don't think I didn't notice your hasty change of topic, kiddo. Everything's OK between you and Clare, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Eli sighed despondently. "I think so. At least, I hope so. I… uh… need to talk to her." He stuttered in explanation.

Bullfrog gave Eli a lopsided smile. "It's pretty hard for you to be around her, huh?"

Eli's expression tightened guardedly. "I don't know what you are talking about," he said defensively. "Clare and I are friends."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Bullfrog said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "But, Eli, I'm not stupid. Anyone can see from the way you look at her that you want to be more than just her friend."

Eli felt his face flush. "Look, Dad, it doesn't matter what I want. Clare and I are friends, and I'm happy about that – hell, I'm ecstatic that I'm in her life at all. After everything that went down last spring, it's a freaking miracle that she still wants to talk to me, let alone hang out with me."

Bullfrog nodded, contemplating Eli silently. "Well, I have to say I'm pretty impressed with the both of you," he admitted. "I could never be friends with any of my exes – especially with any of them that I still had feelings for after the break-up. But, somehow, you and Clare have seemed to manage it."

"Yeah, well," Eli said sheepishly, "don't be too impressed. I currently don't seem to be doing such a good job of being a friend to Clare. That's what I need to talk to her about." He rubbed his temples to try to alleviate the pounding in his head.

"Anything you want to talk about?" Bullfrog inquired, putting the hammer back into his tool box and lowering himself onto the back steps. "I know he doesn't look like it, but your old man is actually quite wise in the ways of the gentler sex."

Eli snorted out a laugh. "Well, I now know that I come by my psychotic delusions honestly," he joked, taking a tentative seat next to Bullfrog on the cold, concrete steps.

Eli ran his hand through his hair and sighed disheartenedly. "Well, if you really want to know … I kind of … might have … taken advantage of Clare last night when she was a little … um … plastered."

"Holy shit, Eli!" Bullfrog cried, his eyes widening with shock. "You slept with her? With Clare? When she was drunk?"

"No! God, no!" Eli defended himself. "I wouldn't do that. Jeez, Bullfrog!"

Bullfrog put his hand on his chest breathing heavily. "Good," he exhaled. "I thought I was going to have to challenge you to a duel or some such shit to defend Clare's honor. I know you are my son and all, but damn, boy, that would have been a deal breaker."

"Good to know you always have my back, Dad," Eli joked sarcastically. He shook his head and continued. "No, we just made out a little. I mean, we were talking, and she was buzzed and feeling good … and I just kind of got caught up in the moment a little bit." Eli paused, his cheeks coloring. "I stopped it before it went too far."

"Well then – no harm, no foul," Bullfrog replied in relief.

"But, I did foul," Eli protested, continuing the tired sports metaphor. "We had just reestablished our friendship, and I crossed the line. And, what's worse, Clare was drunk – and I knew it. I knew she wasn't thinking straight, but I didn't care." He continued, his voice pained and ragged. "And now I don't know what to do – what to say." He sighed in exasperation. "I mean, really, what can I possibly say to excuse my actions? 'Hey, Clare, sorry I jumped you last night when you were drunk. I wish I could blame alcohol, but I was entirely sober.'" He grimaced sarcastically. "Or how about, 'Hey, Clare, I know that you broke-up with me and told me we were never going to get back together again, but I thought since you were drunk and all, you might change your mind and let me have my way with you.' Or how about, 'Clare, I know you just want to be friends, but I'm still massively in love with you – so much so that I can't seem to control myself, even when I know you are drunk and not making rational decisions. What do you say we give our relationship another shot?' Arghh!" Eli groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

Bullfrog put a calming hand on Eli's shoulder. "Well, I wouldn't exactly phrase it like that, Casanova," he joked, smiling when Eli looked up to angrily glare at him.

"Look, Eli, I don't think it's any big secret that you are still in love with Clare," Bullfrog offered. "And, unless the girl is totally in denial, she has to know that. So how about just being honest with her?" He paused a moment, trying to gather the right words. "I know teenage relationships are usually all about dishonesty and game-playing, but that's why most of those relationships are over before the condom is even pulled off and thrown away."

Eli winced at the crass analogy and tried to interject, but Bullfrog waved him away.

"Instead of trying to ignore what happened or to deny it or, God forbid, to excuse it, why not just tell Clare the truth?" Bullfrog continued. "Tell her that you still have feelings for her but that you know she only wants a friendship. Tell her that you got carried away last night and that you are sorry and that it won't happen again."

"But what if that freaks her out?" Eli asked nervously. "Girls tend to freak out when I tell them how I feel."

"Son, Clare has to know how you feel. She was at your play."

Eli flinched and closed his eyes at the memory, letting his head sink back into his hands.

Bullfrog patted Eli's shoulder sympathetically. "Now, I hate to say it but, even if you tell her the truth, Clare has every right to be pissed off at you," Bullfrog continued. "I assume you were partly responsible for her inebriated state, and you did take advantage of that inebriation." Bullfrog shook his head and tsked in disappointment. "However, if you are honest and tell it like it is, I think she will be less angry and more inclined to continue your … um… friendship." He reached up and tousled Eli's hair fondly.

"On the bright side, kid, Clare did stick around long enough this morning to have breakfast with me and CeCe, and it didn't seem like she was out for your blood or anything. Maybe all is not lost."

Eli looked up hopefully.

"If you tell her the truth and apologize, I think she will forgive you," Bullfrog said encouragingly.

Eli smiled a half-smile in return. "Thanks, Dad," he said sincerely.

Bullfrog fondly clapped a hand on Eli's back. "Your old Dad still knows a thing or two." He looked up towards the window he had been working on – the trim hanging unevenly, the insulation poking out haphazardly. "Unfortunately, he doesn't know shit about weather-stripping." He turned his gaze to Eli, his eyes pleading. "So how about you repay me for my valuable advice by helping me finish this before your mother comes home and goes out for my blood?"

Eli grinned at him and shook his head. "Sorry, no can do, Dad," he smirked, flashing his black Sharpied fingers in front of Bullfrog's face. "I just painted my nails. Wouldn't want to mess up my manicure now, would we?"

* * *

><p>Clare quietly closed the door to her bedroom and sank slowly onto her bed, cradling her fragile head in her hands. She thought that her Aunt Susan would never leave. Usually, Clare enjoyed visits from her aunt. However, this time, it was all she could do to sit quietly and count the minutes until Aunt Sue and Uncle Bob got back into their immaculate, little, hybrid car and drove home to their impeccably organized townhouse in Oshawa.<p>

Groaning, Clare raised her fingers to her temples and massaged her forehead. Her head was throbbing violently – the dull ache spreading from the back of her neck and settling painfully behind her eyes. God! She was never going to drink again. What had she been thinking?

She winced remembering the night – or, at least, remembering parts of it. Actually, truth be told, most of what she remembered had been incredible. It was totally cliché, but never had she felt so free - so alive. Sure, she was a little embarrassed thinking about how she had drunkenly fawned over the band; and, for that matter, how she had drunkenly fawned over Imogen - jeez, she must have really been out of it. And yes, her dance with Fiona had been pretty risqué and completely out of character. But, hey, it was nothing to be ashamed of, right? After all, it was supposed to be a night of teenage rebellion. No, no, it was her behavior back at Eli's house that was the problem.

Grimacing, Clare bit her lip and grabbed the bridge of her nose. Dear lord, what had she done? She didn't even know how it had happened. One minute they had been talking about Julia, and the next minute Eli's tongue had been in her mouth. She blushed heatedly at the memory. Sure, she had been drunk, and her inhibitions had been nonexistent, but that still didn't completely explain her incredibly receptive reaction to Eli's advances. Her stomach flipped, as images bombarded her aching brain – Eli's mouth on her throat, his tongue tracing the line of her jaw, the hard planes of his body pressing into to hers, his hand firmly gripping her upper thigh. Oh God! And she had let him. She had let her ex-boyfriend - the guy who had been so intense and possessive that she had been forced to break-up with him – the guy whom she swore she would never get back together with - she had let him completely have his way with her. No, that wasn't entirely true; not only had she let him, she had encouraged him, and responded to him, and, oh crap, it had felt good…

No, no, no, no. She was not going to go down that road again. That road was painful and dangerous and only ended in heartache. Last night had been a moment of weakness. She never would have done it had she been sober. The alcohol was to blame - that damn Captain Morgan and his wicked Caribbean spiced rum.

But, dear Lord, what about Eli? Eli hadn't been drunk, and he had started the whole thing. Did that mean he wanted to get back together with her? Did that mean he wanted to try again? Was he still hung up on her? Was he currently planning their future together? She felt her heart rate speed up at the thought and screwed her eyes shut trying to stop the panic.

Oh God, how was she ever going to face him again? What was she going to say? What if he expected more from her than just friendship now that the physical line had been crossed?

"Damn it, Clare," she mentally chastised herself. "How could you have let this happen?" Stupid, stupid teenage rebellion!

A soft knock sounded at her door.

Hesitatingly, Clare sat up, biting her lip in response to the painful shift in pressure in her head.

"Come in," she said weakly.

Jake poked his head in. "Hey," he said softly. "I just wanted to check on you. You looked a little green during dinner."

Clare smiled tightly. "I'm fine; I just have a headache."

Awkwardly, Jake stepped into Clare's bedroom and leaned against the door frame.

"Rough night last night?"

Clare's eyes grew wide. "What makes you say that?"

Jake smiled knowingly. "Clare, I've had enough hangovers to know one when I see one. I hope it was worth it."

Pressing her lips together tensely, Clare muttered, "It was."

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. "Look, Clare. I know things between us aren't great, but I feel like I don't even know anything about your life anymore. You're gone all the time. And when you're here, you don't talk – at least, not to me." He looked at her, his gaze sincere. "I just worry about you, you know."

Clare closed her eyes. "Well don't," she whispered. "I'm fine."

"I've noticed you've been spending more time around Eli at school." Jake paused, his eyes alight with concern. "Do you really think that that's such a good idea, I mean …"

"Jake," Clare interjected, her voice breaking. "Don't."

"Clare, I just…"

"No." She shook her head, wincing as pain shot down her face and neck. "I can't do this with you. I can't." She looked at Jake her gaze resolute. "I'm fine. I am. And even if I weren't, it's not your problem anymore."

"Clare, we're family now."

"I know that, Jake," Clare cried hoarsely. "Don't you think I know that? But that doesn't mean that everything that came before never happened. That doesn't mean you didn't break my heart – that doesn't mean it's not awkward or painful or embarrassing or incredibly humiliating for me to be around you." She blinked back her tears. She was not going to cry in front of him.

"Look," she continued. "We have one more year until you are off to college. We just need to avoid each other as much as possible until you leave. Then we will just have to deal with each other on holidays and vacations."

"Clare…" Jake tried, his voice pleading.

"No. I don't want to do this. I'm sorry if you don't feel like you are a part of my life, but, truth be told, I don't really want you in my life right now."

"Oh but you're just fine having your other ex in your life – the crazy one. What do I need to do, Clare - write a play about you? Crash my car?" Jake said irritated.

Clare sighed tiredly. "Real mature, Jake. He's bipolar; you know that." She looked at him wearily, wishing he would just go away.

"You broke up with me, Jake – you rejected me. Did you really think things were just going to suddenly be fine?" She dared to make eye contact with him, swallowing bitterly when she saw the pity in his eyes. "No drama, right? That's your motto. Well sorry if I'm not feeling the whole 'one, big, happy family' thing right at the moment."

"But I …"

"Please go, Jake," Clare whispered, putting her head in her hands. "Please just go." She looked up at him pleadingly. "I just can't deal with this right now. My head is pounding. Please."

"Fine," Jake said, his mouth pressed in a firm line. "I was just worried about you. Excuse me for caring." He turned and exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

Clare winced at the sound, letting a few of her tears finally fall. Her life was so messed up right now. She buried her head in her pillow, wishing she could just go back in time to when she was a little kid – back in time to when her parents were still happily married and Darcy was home and all boys had cooties. Things had been so simple then.

Her phone buzzed annoyingly from her bedside table. Sighing tiredly, she reached over to read the incoming text.

**Eli: So, about last night – can we talk?**

Oh shit! She dropped her head back into her pillow, groaning in defeat.

* * *

><p>Eli sat at a back table at The Dot, nervously tapping his blackened fingernails against the Formica table top. It had taken Clare a little while to respond to his text, but, finally, she had agreed to meet him. That was a good sign – at least, he hoped it was. But what if she just wanted to meet to tell him she didn't want to see him anymore – didn't want to tutor him or be his friend?<p>

"No, Eli," he chastised himself. "You can't think like that."

He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing at its cool temperature. He should go and order another cup, but he wanted to wait until Clare arrived so he could buy her a drink too.

The bell above the door sounded, and Clare stumbled in, her hair tangled from the cold wind. She looked around the restaurant, squinting in the brightness of the florescent lighting.

Eli looked at her, amazed. She looked like hell – or as much as Clare Edwards could look like hell. Her face was wan and drawn; her eyes dull with a pained expression. "Damn – not a good sign," Eli thought to himself.

Finally, her eyes focused on Eli at the back of the restaurant. Blowing out a breath, she gave a half-hearted wave and approached his table.

"Hey," she said softly, blinking painfully in the bright light.

"Hey," Eli replied nervously. "Are you all right? You look a little green."

Clare winced at his choice of words, her mind going back to her most recent confrontation with Jake.

Eli stood quickly. "Why don't you sit down, Clare?" he suggested, motioning to a chair. "I'll go get you something to drink. You look frozen."

Clare attempted a feeble smile and sat, her fingers faltering as she tried to work the buttons on her coat. "Thanks," she replied. "Can you get me a hot chai? I have money – just let me get my purse."

"It's fine, Clare. I've got it," Eli said firmly, waving away her attempt to pay.

Surprisingly, she didn't press the issue. She just weakly smiled at Eli, mouthing 'thank you' before letting her head despondently drop into her hands.

Standing at the counter waiting for his order, Eli mentally went over his apology. It wasn't looking good. Clare looked absolutely devastated – like she was trying to hold herself together. Damn it! She must be really upset with him. And who could blame her? He had really crossed a line this time.

The barista called his name, and, taking a deep breath, Eli grabbed his order and apprehensively walked to their table.

"Thanks," Clare sighed in relief, wrapping her fingers around her hot drink. She brought the mug up to her mouth and carefully inhaled the hot steam.

"Not a problem," Eli replied, taking a hasty sip of his own coffee and burning his tongue. He dared a covert glance at Clare.

She had put down her cup and was now dully staring at the table top. All right, it was now or never.

"Look, Clare," he started, his voice breaking a bit with nervous energy. "I just wanted to apologize for last night."

Clare looked up, startled. "The concert was awesome," she said. "I had a great time."

"Yeah, the concert was pretty killer," Eli admitted, biting his lip. "But I mean after the concert." He took a deep breath and plunged in. "Clare, I am so, so sorry. I can't even believe that I did that … that I um… kissed you and everything. I mean, I have no excuse for my actions. I just got caught up in the moment." He looked at her desperately, his eyes pleading. "I knew you were drunk. I knew that I was taking advantage of you. I just…" he broke off and closed his eyes. "Look, you must know that I still have some … uh…unresolved feelings for you."

Clare gazed at him curiously, the dullness in her eyes receding.

"It's just that … I don't know… we were so happy last night, and you were so relaxed… it just seemed like old times, you know?" He paused, his cheeks coloring. "I don't know what happened. I just looked at you and then suddenly I was kissing you and everything felt so right—like it used to feel, and I just got caught up." He broke off, looking at her apologetically.

"I know it was wrong. I know it. I feel horrible about it – that I could take advantage of you like that. And, Clare, I know that you don't feel the same way. I know you just want to be friends. And I'm fine with that. Really! I swear that I am! " His voice took on a tone of desperation. "I promise you, I won't cross that line again, Clare. Just, please, let's not throw away everything because of my stupidity. I really want us to be friends again. I'm so sorry I screwed up. Please, Clare." He broke off, breathing hard.

Clare sat stunned. She didn't know what she had expected from this meeting, but it certainly wasn't this. Eli had admitted that he still had feelings for her. Not only that, he had promised to keep those feelings in check so that they could work on being friends. He wasn't expecting her to jump right back into a relationship with him. He wasn't writing her love sonnets or talking about forever or suggesting that they lock themselves in a room together. He was actually being rational and, what was more, he was being completely honest. She raised her hands to her temples, rubbing them in disbelief.

"Clare," Eli's voice broke into her reverie. "Clare, could you say something? I'm kind of dying over here."

She shook her head, grimacing at the pain. "Oh, sorry, Eli. It's just that I currently have the worst headache I have ever experienced in my entire sixteen years of existence, and it takes my brain a little longer to process information." She smiled at him tentatively.

"Sorry about the hangover, Edwards," Eli apologized gruffly. God, would she just get on with it? This was literally killing him. He looked at her expectantly, his expression desperate.

"Um…I don't quite know what to say," she stuttered, watching as Eli's face fell. "No, no, I mean, I'm not mad at you or anything," she hurried to add.

Eli looked up at her in shock.

"I mean, we shouldn't have done it. Obviously. But, I guess I can kind of understand where you were coming from. I mean I was definitely not myself, but, even then, it did feel ... um… I don't know, normal? Well, not normal but comfortable – right, I guess." She shook her head in impatience. "I can't articulate what I'm trying to say. It just, like you said, felt like old times. I don't blame you for getting caught up in the moment. And you did stop it before we went too far." She blushed, remembering the feeling of the cool metal of his ring as it slowly slid up the outside of her thigh.

Noticing her red cheeks, Eli blushed in return. "God, I am so, so sorry, Clare. It won't happen again."

Clare smiled. "It's fine, Eli. It happened – we talked about it – we're moving on." She took a sip of her tea, closing her eyes in relief as the hot liquid warmed her body.

"Thanks," Eli breathed, his expression going slack relief. "I thought for sure you wouldn't want anything more to do with me." He looked down at the table top embarrassed.

Clare looked at him pointedly. "I know, Eli." She leaned forward slightly in her seat, the pupils of her eyes dilating with some unknown emotion. "I know how hard it is to bury feelings and soldier on pretending everything is OK. I know."

He looked up at her startled, but she had dropped her gaze back down to the table top.

"Besides," she teased, glancing up at him and moving them back into safer waters, "I may have been drunk, but I definitely wasn't a saint, myself, last night." She smirked. "I guess I should be relieved that it was you I made out with when it so easily could have been Fiona."

Eli choked on his coffee, a mental image popping into his brain. "Clare Edwards!"

"What?" she replied innocently, playfully cocking her head. She painfully groaned in response to the movement, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes.

Eli pushed his chair back noisily and stood. "Come on, Edwards," he said, holding out his hand to her. "We're going to the drug store and getting you some relief from that headache. CeCe has the best hangover cure around. I just need to pick up the supplies."

Clare smiled at him weakly before reaching out and taking his hand.


	12. Sabotage

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 12**

**Sabotage**

"**Listen all of y'all"* to one of the best alternative, hip hop/rap groups in history, the Beastie Boys. They've been making amazing music for almost thirty years now and show no signs of slowing down. If you are unfamiliar with their sound, start with "Sabotage" – they will "set it straight this Watergate."* They are the real deal, I promise you. And really, who doesn't love a hard, funky beat; bitingly killer wit; and rhymes that are "sweeter than a cherry pie with Reddi-Wip topping"?* ; )**

**I do not own **_**Degrassi**_** or any characters associated with it. I also do not own the amazingly kickass series **_**Firefly**_** or Walt Disney's **_**Sleeping Beauty**_**.**

***"Sabotage" by the Beastie Boys**

****"So What'cha Want" by the Beastie Boys**

* * *

><p>"Clare!" a voice cried, startling Clare as she was diligently organizing her books alphabetically in her locker. She turned to see Fiona barreling down the hall towards her, stumbling precariously in stylishly chic, three inch heels that were not at all suitable for running. This couldn't end well.<p>

Sure enough, unable to stop in time, Fiona rammed into Clare, throwing her back against the locker and pulling her down to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

"Ouch!" Clare cried, rubbing the back of her head and wincing. "If you are looking for the football tryouts, Fiona, I think they are in the gym."

"Hardy har har, Clare. You are so incredibly funny," Fiona smirked sarcastically. "No look!" she cried, leaning over and grabbing the paper that had flown out of her hand in their collision. She shoved it in Clare's face. "Look and be amazed!"

It was Fiona's history term paper, and up at the top, right-hand corner of the cover sheet was a bold, red A -. _'Excellent work, Ms. Coyne'_ was written across the title in Perino's messy scrawl.

"I have never received an A on a history assignment in my life!" Fiona cried enthusiastically. "Do you know what this means?" she continued, sitting up on her knees and grabbing Clare's arm. "It means that I am going to pass history and be completely finished with it once and for all!" She awkwardly rose to her feet, pulling Clare up with her. "I was only one semester short of the graduation requirement," she further explained. "So I am free! Free! Or I will be in just a couple of weeks!" She twirled, stumbling a bit and grabbing on to Clare to steady herself. "I can't believe it! No more political charters and confusing genealogies; no more horribly boring wars; no more stupid, stupid dates to memorize. And, since I had history first period, I now have an open first which means another hour of glorious, beautiful, precious sleep. Oh, Clare, I can hardly contain my delight!"

"That's great, Fiona," Clare congratulated warmly. "I knew you could do it; I knew your paper was strong."

"It was strong because of you," Fiona smiled. She grabbed Clare's shoulders and locked eyes with the younger girl. "You are my savior, Clare Edwards. And I mean that from the very bottom of my heart."

"I hardly think…" Clare tried to protest, but Fiona waved her away.

"And to thank you for all of your hard work and to celebrate the fact that, come next term, I will never have to sit through another lecture on the Trojan War, I'm going to throw a little soiree." Her face took on an expression of delight. "It will be intimate – classy - no expense will be spared!" she cried, gesturing grandly.

"Uh, Fiona… um … I'd be happy to help you celebrate passing, but please don't do anything on my behalf," Clare stuttered. "I just edited your paper and gave you some suggestions. You're the one who wrote it."

"Oh, Clare, you are so charmingly humble and unassuming," Fiona said affectionately. "You really must stop that."

She clapped her hands together excitedly. "I can't wait to start planning!" She turned to Clare, her expression suddenly pensive.

"Tell me, Clare, how do you feel about caviar? Does that seem too trite and cliché – like I am trying too hard to impress?" Not pausing for an answer, she continued eagerly. "Sadly, the Dom Perignon is out for obvious reasons; but what do you think about a chocolate fountain? Oh, I know! What about ice sculptures?" She grabbed Clare's arm enthusiastically. "Oooo, I could have one made to look like Perino! It's quite apropos considering how cold he's been to me in class this year." She cocked her head and bit her lip in serious contemplation. "Is that too much, do you think?"

Clare just smiled indulgently at Fiona and shook her aching head.

* * *

><p>"This is good, Eli," Clare said, looking up from her perusal of one of Eli's college application essays. "It's raw and creative, and it doesn't pander to your audience which, I think, is the downfall of so many college essays."<p>

Eli glanced up from his physics homework. "Thanks," he replied. "I wasn't sure if it made me seem too intense and crazy. I'm sure when the college admission administrators wrote the prompt, they weren't expecting a no-holds barred look into the trials and tribulations of someone suffering from Bipolar Disorder. But, hey, they did ask me to write about a struggle I was currently trying to overcome – so technically, they asked for it."

"No, it's really good," Clare reiterated, crossing out a sentence and circling a minor, grammatical error. "It's interesting and honest and very well-written." She looked up at him and smirked. "I'd admit you."

"Well, that doesn't really help me since you are not on their admissions board, but thanks all the same," Eli smiled back weakly.

"So, is this a school you would really like to attend?" Clare questioned, glancing at the glossy brochure that accompanied the college application. "Or are you applying to it as a back-up?"

Eli blinked and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted tiredly. He shook his head and sighed defeatedly. "In all honesty, right now I don't really care." Shrugging his shoulders apathetically, he continued. "I can't really explain it - sometimes I'm super excited about the prospect of going to college and sometimes I just couldn't give a shit." He looked at Clare apologetically, "Sorry, Edwards."

It wasn't fair to her. She was doing everything in her power to help him- to assure that he didn't completely blow off his future and yet, lately, he couldn't work up enough enthusiasm to even pretend that he cared.

"Don't apologize to me," Clare replied. She reached out and gently touched Eli's wrist. "Eli, I don't want you to feel pressured. It doesn't matter to me if you go to college next year or if you take a gap year." She smiled at him softly. "I do hope you go to college someday because I think you are one of those people for whom college is made – one of those people who would thrive in an intellectual environment, who would be open to all that college has to offer. But, there is no set timetable. The only reason I suggested that you apply this year is so that you will have the option to go next year if that is something that you decide you want to do."

"I know," Eli replied, giving her a half-smile. "And I appreciate it. I really do."

He exhaled and rubbed his face roughly. "I'm sorry I've been such a killjoy lately." He pursed his lips together in frustration. "I talked to my doctor, and she is adjusting the dosage of my medication. It's really frustrating. The meds will work for a while, and then I'll regress or develop some new, charming side effect, and then it's back to square one." He smirked sardonically, "Talk about a freaking struggle – that prompt was tailor-made for me."

"How's therapy going?" Clare asked gently.

Eli blew out a breath. "It's fine. It's…um…difficult. I mean, I feel so pathetic—like such a little, cry baby. It doesn't help my street cred that's for damn sure," he joked.

"Does it seem to be helping at all?" Clare queried.

"I guess. I mean, it's always good to get things out, right? If you repress too much, you may crack and end up doing something stupid like crashing your car or having a break-down on stage in front of an audience. I wouldn't want to do that – oh wait…"

"Oh, Eli," Clare soothed, smiling sadly. "Someday you are going to have to stop beating yourself up for all of that."

"Yeah, easier said than done, Edwards," he mumbled flatly. He shook his head impatiently. He was getting so tired of this. Just when he thought he had it all under control, just when things were going well, he would sink back into the grey nothingness of depression or, even worse, work himself up into the frantic anxiety of mania. It sucked. It wasn't fair – to him or to the people who had to deal with him on a daily basis. Poor Clare had been with him to hell and back a couple of times now. Yet, she still faithfully came every day after school to help him get his shit together. At the very least, she shouldn't have to deal with all of his fucking apathy and indifference.

Taking a deep breath, Eli plastered on a weak smile and attempted to lighten the pessimistically dreary conversation. "But, to answer your question, therapy is going fairly well. My doc really seems to like me. But, then again, what doctor wouldn't love me? I mean, between the Bipolar Disorder and the hording and the borderline OCD and the post-traumatic stress from losing Julia and the car crash and, of course, all the issues surrounding my numerous, public break-downs , I'm like a therapist's wet dream! Seriously," he joked, "my psychiatric profile is like porn for mental health practitioners. They can't help but get turned-on reading all about how messed up I am."

Clare frowned laughing, "Gross, Eli."

"No, really," Eli continued, his smile suddenly becoming genuine. "I bet if there were a porn magazine for therapists, I could definitely make centerfold. Eli Goldsworthy, Mr. Bipolar. He enjoys long walks on the beach, romantic dinners, and lighting things on fire in front of an audience."

"Stop, stop," Clare laughed, covering her ears.

"What's the matter, Edwards?" Eli teased, wagging his eyebrows at her naughtily. "Is the visual making you uncomfortable? Are you thinking of me clad only in a straitjacket or, better yet, lying in a bathtub filled with prescription mood-stabilizers?"

"Oh, God," Clare groaned laughing. "Now I'll never get the image out of my head. Stop, I beg of you, before I am completely traumatized."

"OK, OK," Eli surrendered, smiling. "I'll stop." He gamely changed the subject, proud that he had succeeded in lifting the heavy atmosphere.

"So, are you getting excited about Fiona's little, celebratory shindig? You know, she's doing it all for you, or, as she likes to call you, that gorgeous angel Clare."

"She may say that," Clare replied, waving away the compliment, "but in reality she just wants to throw a fancy party. Besides, I didn't do anything worth celebrating. I just edited her paper for her."

"Stop selling yourself short, Edwards," Eli grumbled. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

"That's pretty ironic coming from you, Mr. Pot," Clare quipped back. "Don't tell me you are trying to call me black."

Eli huffed and rolled his eyes. "We're not talking about me – for freaking once. Seriously, Clare, you really helped Fiona out, and she is grateful. Let her be grateful; let her thank you. Stop being so damned modest. It makes the rest of us look bad."

"Fine," Clare conceded. "I will go to the party and be properly impressed and gracious and complement Fiona on her choice of cuisine and decorations. But it's silly, really. Fiona is the one who passed the darn class; she should be celebrating her own efforts – not celebrating me."

Eli smirked at her wickedly. "Does that mean you won't be able to fully appreciate the mud statue Fiona had built in your honor or the fact that she hired a musician to compose 'The Hero of Degrassi, The Ballad of Clare Edwards'?"

"Shut it, Goldsworthy," Clare cautioned, recognizing the _Firefly_ reference. She, Eli, and Adam had marathoned the whole series back in the halcyon days before the accident.

"Clare! / The girl they call Clare!" Eli began to sing obnoxiously. "She helped poor Fiona improve her class score/ She stood up to Perino and gave him what for …"*

Clare shook her head in defeat and pushed back her chair. "I'm going to go get a snack. Let me know if you need any help with your physics homework." She walked towards the kitchen, turning back to roll her eyes at Eli who was still singing loudly. "You're hilarious, Eli. Maybe you should take your act on the road."

But Eli only grinned and increased his volume. "We all love her now, and on this we will swear/ The hero of Degrassi, the girl they call Clare."*

* * *

><p>"Oh my God," Clare breathed, scanning Fiona's loft in disbelief. The penthouse apartment looked like something out of a fairy tale. White, twinkle lights ornamented almost every surface, bathing the festivities in a soft, romantic glow. Beautiful bouquets of mixed, exotic flowers dotted the room, their colorful, jewel tones setting off the stark, white décor. A gorgeous, mahogany buffet stood resplendently against the wall, its surface adorned with an amazing spread of mouth-watering hors d'oeuvres; the promised chocolate fountain regally holding court at the end of the buffet next to a silver platter of strawberries, pineapple slices, banana pieces, and pound cake.<p>

Clare swallowed and allowed her eyes to roam further. The dining table was breath-taking. Gorgeous, tapered candles shone their soft light over the place settings. Indeed, the whole table was a vision in white – white linins, white china, white candles. In fact, the only color on the table was from the centerpiece of colorful flowers and from the multi-colored name cards decorating each place setting - their surfaces reflecting the candlelight like pieces of stained glass.

"Clare!" Fiona cried enthusiastically. Making her excuses to the person to whom she had been talking, Fiona gracefully glided over to Clare, her arms outstretched.

Fiona looked absolutely stunning in what Clare could only assume was haute couture. Her black dress was strapless, gracefully hugging her figure. A thin, gold, metallic stripe curved around her body, coiling around her abdomen and down over her hips like some exotic snake. Her hair was up off her shoulders, intricately arranged in glossy twists, spirals, and loops.

Clare looked down at her own unassuming, turquoise dress, her critical gaze following the length of the bodice to where it flared out at the waist into a full skirt. She had thought she looked pretty good until she saw Fiona. Clare had even gone so far as to experiment with eye make-up, trying her best to replicate CeCe's expert work (granted without employing the dreaded eyelash curler). However, when faced with vision known as Fiona Coyne, Clare knew all of her efforts had been in vain. Oh well, it couldn't be helped. There was no way she could even compete with Fiona; best not to try.

Fiona engulfed Clare in an expensively perfumed hug. "The guest of honor! I'm so glad you are here." She pulled back to look at Clare. "You look absolutely charming, Clare," she smiled. "That color really compliments your eyes."

"Thanks, Fiona," Clare replied smiling. "You look gorgeous as always." She waved her arm in an encompassing gesture. "In fact, this whole place is gorgeous. I feel like I'm in a movie or something. It doesn't seem real."

Fiona smiled brilliantly. "I know," she whispered conspiratorially. "It turned out better than I expected." She pulled on Clare's hand leading her to the buffet. "I decided against the Perino ice sculpture," she admitted, under her breath. "It would have been entirely too gauche – especially when it started melting."

She gestured to the laden buffet. "Help yourself, Clare, while I get you something to drink." She wrinkled her face apologetically. "There's no alcohol, I'm afraid. But I do have some lovely, sparkling Italian soda."

"That sounds great, Fiona," Clare replied. She smiled sheepishly and lowered her voice. "Between you and me, I've given up alcohol after my ill-fated, virgin voyage with Captain Morgan."

"Good choice," Fiona laughed. She turned towards the bar, leaving Clare to peruse the delicious multitude of hors d'oeuvres. She had just picked up a crostini covered with some artichoke parmesan concoction when she felt a body behind her.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the woman of the hour," Eli joked.

Clare turned and smiled at him. "I swear, Eli, if you start singing 'The Ballad of Clare' again, I'll throw you in the chocolate fountain."

Eli laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'll behave. I promise." He smirked wickedly. "Although I do love chocolate." He stepped forward and reached around Clare, his body entirely too close, to grab a strawberry and dip it into the fountain. Pulling back slightly, he bit into the fruit suggestively and looked at Clare. "Oh, you should try one of these, Edwards," he said, his voice dangerously low.

Clare inhaled sharply and hastily turned back to the buffet. "I will. I just want to try one of these artichoke thingies first," she said, trying to control her shaky voice. Damn him! He knew exactly how to rattle her. "Keep it together, Clare," she mentally chastised herself.

"Hey, hey, hey," Adam cried breaking up Eli and Clare's provocatively loaded tete `a tete. He gave Clare a one-armed hug, "What's cooking, good looking?"

Clare squeezed him back and gestured toward the buffet. "Adam, may I introduce you to your soul mate, Buffet? Buffet, this is Adam Torres; he will be your companion for the evening."

"Damn straight, I will," Adam cried, grabbing a plate as Eli and Clare laughed. "Best freaking date of my life!"

Filling their plates, the three friends retreated to the couch, laughing and joking together. Fiona joined them moments later, drink in hand.

"Here you are, Clare," she said handing Clare a sparkling, pink drink in a crystal flute. "I think you will like it. It's imported from Napoli."

"Thanks, Fiona," Clare smiled gratefully.

"Hey, Fi, do you have anything to drink that doesn't look like ballerina vomit?" Adam asked sarcastically. "And maybe a glass that holds more than two ounces?"

"Really, Adam," Fiona quipped back, "you have such discriminating tastes. Come with me," she sighed, shaking her head in exasperation and leading Adam back to the bar.

Left alone, Clare and Eli grew silent.

Trying to look busy, Eli took a bite of some buttery, flaky puff and chanced a covert glance at Clare. She looked so incredibly lovely. Unlike the blatant sexiness of Fiona's dress, Clare's outfit was subtly suggestive. Although not revealing, the neckline of her dress showed just enough skin to be intriguing. And the delicate fabric clung to her torso before meeting her hips and flaring out fully.

Clare met his gaze and smiled.

"You look beautiful, Clare," Eli said sincerely.

"Thanks," Clare smiled. "You clean up pretty nice, yourself, Goldsworthy," she fired back, looking over his dark jeans and charcoal-colored button down shirt. A loosely knotted black tie and a fitted, black, military style jacket completed the ensemble.

Eli smiled and glanced down briefly at his attire. He did look pretty good, if he did say so himself. "Well, you know, it's not my night, but I thought I should look nice." He grinned at Clare. "Do you have your speech all ready, you know, for when Fiona introduces you as the hero of Degrassi?"

"Shut up," Clare grumbled good-naturedly. She took a bite of something and groaned in bliss. "Oh my lord, this is like heaven in a pastry shell." She held up her half eaten hors d'oeuvre. "Did you try one of these?"

Eli smiled at the rapturous look on her face. "I take it, it's pretty good."

"It's freaking delicious," Clare cried. "I think it has some kind of Greek filing. Here," she said holding up the rest of her appetizer and bringing it to Eli's lips.

His eyes met hers, and he obediently opened his mouth, instinctively leaning forward into her touch.

Clare returned his intense gaze, her fingers accidently brushing his bottom lip as she brought the morsel to his mouth. Instantly, she was transported back to another time, not so long ago, when she had dared to run a finger over Eli's mouth after Fitz had beaten the crap out of him. Her stomach fluttered in response. Suddenly waking from the moment, she exhaled shakingly and pulled back.

Eli felt his heart rate speed up at Clare's delicate touch. It was such an intimate gesture –the act of feeding him. It was something that lovers did, not exes who were trying desperately to be friends again. Without thinking, he swallowed nervously, sucking the food into his windpipe and choking.

"Eli, are you OK?" Clare asked, patting him roughly on the back.

"Yeah…uh…I'm…huh, huh, huh,…just fff…huh ..fine," he gasped, his eyes filling with tears.

From out of nowhere, a glass of water was thrust into his face. He grabbed it thankfully, gulping it greedily.

Startled, Clare looked up to see Imogen staring down at her. Creatively dressed for the occasion, Imogen looked elegantly creepy in a black dress that looked like it was entirely composed of spider-webs. Her hair was arranged in two, glossy cones, one on each side of her head, `a la Maleficent in Disney's _Sleepy Beauty_.

"Good evening, Clare Edwards," Imogen said regally. She then turned her attention to Eli. "Are you OK, Eli?" she queried worriedly. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do you think it was poisoned?"

Eli hacked a few more times and looked up at Imogen perplexed. "Um, no, Imo; it wasn't poisoned. It just went down the wrong pipe. I'm fine. Thanks for the water."

"You are very welcome," she smiled, taking a seat on the other side of Eli. "You really can't be too careful with what you eat, you know," she warned, placing a bejeweled hand on Eli's knee. "I never really trust food that I don't make myself."

"You must be hungry a lot then," Clare quipped, smiling teasingly at Imogen.

"Not really, Clare Edwards," Imogen replied superciliously, shooting Clare an impatient glance.

"Well, speaking of food that other people prepared," Eli broke-in trying to ease some of the tension, "it looks like dinner is about to be served." He pointed to where Fiona was patiently herding her dinner guests to the table.

He stood and looked at the two girls, gesturing grandly with his hands. "After you, ladies."

Imogen rose and smiled at Eli before advancing towards the table. Suddenly, she paused and turned towards Clare. "I would appreciate if you would please refrain from touching my hair tonight, Clare Edwards."

"What?" Clare asked completely taken aback. "I … I don't understand."

"Please," Imogen replied, shaking her head with weary tolerance. "At the Vitriolic Youth concert, you couldn't keep your hands out of my hair, no matter my protests."

Clare blushed and stammered out an apology, reminding Imogen of her obvious insobriety during the night in question.

"It's fine," Imogen said dismissively, cutting Clare off mid explanation. "Just don't let it happen again - no matter how much you are tempted." She turned and imperially continued on towards the dinner table.

Clare turned to Eli and widened her eyes in disbelief. Shaking her head incredulously, she followed the dark, retreating figure, being careful to leave plenty of space between them.

Biting back a laugh, Eli smiled to himself and trailed behind them, admiring the view.

* * *

><p>Fiona stood and delicately tapped her silver fork against her crystal goblet calling for the table's attention. "Ahem… thank you all so much for coming to my little, celebratory dinner," she said magnanimously, gesturing to her guests who were seated around the table. "I can't tell you how much it means to me to have you all here and how relieved I am to be almost completely finished with history."<p>

The guests clapped politely, and Adam enthusiastically whooped from his seat.

"Thank you, thank you," Fiona acknowledged, smiling. "However, there is another person here who deserves the spotlight."

Clare grimaced in response to Fiona's words, sliding down low in her seat.

"Clare Edwards," Fiona continued, pointing at the blushing girl, "is the real reason that we are all here celebrating tonight. Most of you know that my history grade came down to my final term paper. I had to receive a B or higher on it in order to pass the class," Fiona patiently explained. "Not an easy feat for a girl who – well, let's just say – for a girl whose many talents do not include writing and who really couldn't care less about a bunch of stuffy, old men and their insanely stupid wars. Luckily, for me, I had Clare." She smiled sweetly at Clare whose face now resembled an overripe tomato. "With her amazing writing and editing skills, Clare molded and shaped my final term paper—turning it into the historical masterpiece that it currently is and thus impressing Perino so much that he couldn't do anything other than to pass me." Realizing that her last statement was just a touch hyperbolic, Fiona smiled humbly. "Believe me, I didn't give her much to work with initially; however, somehow Clare was able to work her magic on both me and on my paper. And, for this, I will be eternally grateful." She smiled at Clare, batting her eyelashes prettily.

The table once more exploded into cheers, Adam wolf whistling loudly.

"Speech! Speech!" Eli cried, a wicked smirk on his face.

Clare shot him a death glare, but it was too late.

"Yes, yes, Clare," Fiona cried, putting a hand on Clare's shoulder, "you should say something."

Blushing, Clare awkwardly rose to address the table. "Um…I didn't really prepare anything," she stammered, once more glaring at Eli. "Well," she continued, thinking on the fly, "I'd like to first thank Fiona, not only for her kind words but also for putting on this amazing party – truly," she said, turning to Fiona, "you've outdone yourself."

The guests applauded wildly, clanging their forks against their glasses in agreement.

"And, I just want to assure you all that Fiona is the one who deserves all of the accolades tonight. She is the one who wrote the paper and passed the class. I just helped her expand and polish it." Clare paused, looking at her hostess. "And even though she never showed up to any of our appointments on time," Clare teased, smirking, "I'm really happy that I got the opportunity to work with her. And I'm even happier that I can now call her a friend."

The table erupted in dramatic "oohs" and "awws," and Fiona put her hand over her heart graciously.

Clare leaned forward and picked up her glass. "I'd like to make a toast."

She waited for everyone to pick up their glasses.

"To Fiona Coyne – an amazing hostess, a wonderful friend, and, above all else, a girl who will soon be too busy making history to ever again worry about passing it."

"To Fiona!" the guests called clinking their glasses together.

Fiona gazed at Clare, her eyes glassy. "Thank you," she mouthed sincerely.

Clare sank back into her seat, her cheeks still red.

"Nice speech, Edwards," Eli said from his seat across from Clare. "I must say, I'm very impressed with your extemporaneous speaking abilities."

Clare glared at him. "Yeah, well, you'll get to sample a little more of those extemporaneous speaking abilities when I get you alone," she hissed, still annoyed.

"Is that a promise?" Eli shot back, his voice suggestive.

Clare just rolled her eyes at him and turned her attention to her first course.

* * *

><p>The dinner was incredible - each course more delectable than the previous one. Clare couldn't remember ever having a better meal in her life.<p>

The atmosphere was light – the guests falling into easy conversation with each other, laughing and joking among bites of seafood bisque; filet mignon; buttery, garlic potatoes; and some incredible pear salad topped with candied walnuts.

Fiona was in her element, entertaining the table with stories of her European adventures - mainly the time that she had had to talk herself out of a Romanian prison (she had been mistakenly arrested for solicitation) by trying to convince the guards that she was the daughter of the Prime Minister of Canada; and, when that didn't hold much weight, pretending she was distantly related to Canadian singing sensation Anne Murray. This caused the table to break out in an acapella, if not slightly off-tune, version of Murray's "You Needed Me."

The few times Clare looked over at Eli during the meal, he had been blatantly staring at her, not even bothering to look away or pretend to be doing otherwise. And, locking eyes with him, Clare couldn't help but notice that tonight Eli's eyes held a strange light. His gaze was keenly focused – particularly intense. It was as if he were searching for something in her. His scrutiny made Clare breathless, and, try as she might, she couldn't help the slow blush that crept over her cheeks.

Ever since he had run over her glasses at their first meeting, there had always been some unexplainable energy between the two of them. But, tonight, that energy seemed volatile – ready to ignite at any moment. Clare closed her eyes, desperately reminding herself to be cautious.

After a delicious dessert of delicate, hazelnut cake layered with raspberries and custard and topped with a sprinkling of dark chocolate shavings, the guests retired to the living room.

"All right," Fiona cried, clapping her hands to get the group's attention. "It is now time for the entertainment portion of this evening. What shall we do? We can play a game or, I know!" she cried eagerly. "Declan got me a state of the art karaoke machine for my birthday! We could karaoke!"

"Oh God, no," Adam cried. "Please no karaoke. I haven't recovered from the last time when I had to listen to you and Eli sing that god-awful rendition of Shania Twain's 'Man! I Feel Like a Woman!'"

Clare turned to Eli, her eyes wide in amazement.

He blushed. "Um… yeah… it was during one of my manic episodes," he explained embarrassed. "I plead insanity – like literal insanity."

Clare laughed. "Oh, Goldsworthy, my image of you has been completely blown."

He smiled back, his gaze penetrating. "Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises, Edwards," he said darkly.

"I know a game we could play," Imogen offered from her perch on the armrest of the sofa. "It's called Truth or Consequence."

The party guests turned to her in interest.

"It's a bit like Truth or Dare, only the stakes are higher." She hesitated, enjoying the attention. "In this game, you don't get the option of choosing to tell the truth or doing a dare. You have to tell the truth – no matter how embarrassing or painful. If you decide to opt out or if you are caught in a lie, then you have to face a consequence." She paused dramatically. "The person who asked you the question, gets to pick the consequence. They can choose to be merciful and let you off with an easy dare or they can make the consequence something more – shall we say - severe."

"Oooh, that sounds dangerous!" Fiona squealed. "Let's play."

A few of the party goers, uncomfortable with the direction the party was taking, chose to say their thank yous to Fiona and make a hasty exit.

Clare wished she could leave with them, but Adam was her ride home; and he seemed surprisingly excited to play the game. "Oh well," she thought to herself. "It won't be too bad." Clare didn't have many skeletons in her closet. She certainly wouldn't have to worry about having to take a consequence.

Fiona started the game off, asking one of her senior friends, a pretty girl with long, blond hair, about her latest sexual exploit. The girl, happy to brag about her newest conquest, gamely went into graphic detail of the act, causing Clare to shift uncomfortably in her seat and feign a deep interest in her nail polish.

The game continued, with one or two people facing a consequence. Jesse, a member of the drama club, refused to describe the time he had lost his virginity (Clare suspected he was still a virgin) and had to model one of Fiona's silk nighties as a consequence. He gamely strutted through the living room, tolerantly ignoring all the cat calls and wolf whistles.

Another girl's consequence had been that she had to wash off all of her carefully applied make-up and then post a picture of herself sans make-up on Facebook. She had tearfully done it and then spent the rest of the night checking her status to see the comments people left.

It was now Imogen's turn.

"Clare Edwards," Imogen cried, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "I pick you."

Clare gulped nervously.

Imogen narrowed her gaze, looking at Clare meaningfully. "How far did you and Eli get when you were dating?" she asked, smiling to belie the intensity of her tone.

Clare felt the heated blush rush up to her face. "Um…" she stammered, glancing embarrassingly at Eli.

He gave her a small smile of encouragement, his own cheeks red, but his eyes steady.

"Not very far," Clare said quietly. She cleared her throat. "I … uh… wear a purity ring," she explained hoarsely, spinning the ring around her finger distractedly. "I took a pledge not to have sex until marriage. So…um…we never went that far…just…um… made out and a little…uh," she broke off and took a deep breath. "We got to second base a few times," she admitted, her cheeks burning.

Imogen nodded solemnly. "I accept that answer. Thank you for your honesty, Clare Edwards."

"Clare, it's your turn to pick someone and ask a question," Fiona prompted, trying to rescue Clare from her discomfort.

"Oh," Clare breathed out, still disconcerted from Imogen's question. "Yes, uh…Fiona," she said, wracking her brain for a safe question. "If you could date any celebrity, who would it be?"

"Oh, that's easy," Fiona replied. "Emma Stone. She is gorgeous, intelligent, and incredibly funny. Now, if only she were gay," Fiona said wistfully, holding a hand to her heart and using the other to fan herself dramatically.

The party guests laughed.

"Adam," Fiona called, a wicked smirk on her face. "What is the meanest thing you have ever done?"

Adam grinned mischievously. "Oh, what to choose? What to choose?" he cried gleefully, tapping the tips of his fingers together evilly. "Well, there was the time that I put itching powder in Drew's shorts before he went out on a date with a girl he really liked. Needless to say, that girl never called him back," Adam joked.

"Or there was the time when I stole Drew's English essay on the most memorable event in his life and replaced it with one I got off of the internet. Drew wrote his paper about throwing the winning touchdown in a championship game. I switched it with an essay some girl had written about attending a Justin Bieber concert. Apparently, she went into hysterics when Bieber came on stage, passed out, hit her head, and had to be carried out on a stretcher and taken to a hospital. But she received a get well card from the Biebs, and counted it as her most shining moment. Man, was Drew ever pissed! That teacher never looked at Drew the same way again. But, hey, Drew got a 'B' on the essay, so I figured, it was all good." Adam smiled at the memory.

"OK," Fiona laughed. "Remind me never to cross you, Torres. Your turn."

"Imogen," Adam called, raising his eyebrows at his new victim. "What's up with the whole Morticia vibe tonight? Why do you dress the way you do? Is it to get attention?"

Imogen looked at Adam quizzically. "I like the way I look, Adam Torres," she said simply. "My clothes are a reflection of my soul."

Adam nodded uncomfortably. "Uh…OK. I guess that's a valid answer. Go ahead and ask your question."

Imogen blinked and turned back to Clare. "Clare Edwards."

Clare sighed quietly and braced herself for another question.

"If Jake Martin would have agreed to sleep with you, would you have given up your virginity to him?"

The question hit Clare like a slap to the face. The room seemed suddenly quiet, as if all of the air had been sucked out.

Clare glanced nervously up at Eli whose expression was surprisingly calm.

"I …um…I have a purity ring," Clare said, trying desperately to avoid the question.

"I didn't ask you about your jewelry," Imogen said dismissively. "I asked whether or not you would have slept with Jake Martin if he had wanted you to."

Oh God! Clare could feel her heart rate increase and her cheeks infuse with blood. Instantly she was transported back to that horrible night. The night when she had offered herself to Jake, so sure that he was the one – so sure that he wanted the same thing that she did, only to be humiliatingly rejected. She looked around the room desperately.

They were waiting for her answer. They were all waiting.

"I don't know if I would have gone through with it," Clare tried to evade. "No one really knows what they would do until they are put in that situation." She glanced tentatively at Eli whose eyes were wide with shock. He had been expecting her to deny it outright.

"Unacceptable," Imogen said icily. "I do not accept your answer."

"Imo, …" Fiona tried to interject, but Imogen continued stubbornly.

"I know for a fact that, despite your claim to innocence, you did, indeed, offer Jake Martin your virginity. In fact, the only reason you are even still wearing your pretty, little, purity ring is because he rejected your advances."

"What?" Clare cried, "How do you …? What did you….?"

"It's common knowledge," Imogen said smiling benevolently. "Now, as your consequence for not telling the complete truth, I want you to explain to Eli why you were so willing to break your purity pledge with Jake Martin, and yet you only allowed Eli to, as you so charmingly put it, get to second base a couple of times."

"Imo!" Fiona whispered, shocked.

The room was deathly quiet – all eyes staring at Clare.

Eli sat looking at the ground, refusing to make eye contact.

Clare exhaled anxiously. God, this was a nightmare. But they were waiting for her to speak. She shook her head determinedly, trying to compose herself. "Not that it's any of your business, Imogen, but Jake and I had been dating for a while," she tried to explain. "At the time, I was questioning everything in my life – all my beliefs – all my values. It just seemed like the next, natural step in our relationship." She licked her lips nervously, daring a glance at Eli. "Eli and I …"

Eli stood suddenly, his hands balled into fists. "I have to go," he said, his voice tense and angry. "Thanks, Fiona." He turned and strode towards the door, viciously grabbing his coat off the coat rack.

"Eli, wait!" Clare called, standing and starting after him.

But he only barreled out Fiona's door, slamming it in response.

Tearfully, Clare turned to the crowd. She glanced past Fiona's shocked expression and Imogen's smug smile and focused on Adam. "We were broken up," she said shakily. "Jake was my boyfriend. I didn't do anything wrong. I wasn't purposely trying to hurt Eli."

"I know, Clare. I know," Adam replied sympathetically, reaching out for her hand.

"I have to go after him," she cried. "I have to explain this." She looked at Adam pleadingly.

"Go," Adam encouraged. "I'll wait here for you. Take all the time that you need."

Clare looked gratefully at Adam and then, grabbing her own coat, ran out into the unforgiving coldness of the night.

* * *

><p><strong>*Lyrics appropriated (with major changes) from "The Hero of Canton, The Ballad of Jayne Cobb" – from the episode "Jaynestown" in the series <em>Firefly<em> written by Joss Whedon and Ben Edlund**


	13. All For A Woman

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 13**

**All For A Woman**

**Someone asked me just the other day which band I was currently obsessing over (ah, they know me so well). Without any hesitation I answered, "The Airborne Toxic Event." Have you heard them? They are absolutely phenomenal. I saw a veritable plethora of live shows last year, and I have to say, Airborne's shows were the best (sorry, MCR; you were a close second…oh and, Cake, you were right up there too … and so were you, Mumford and Sons). Check out Airborne's song "All For A Woman." It will slay you - seriously, you will be on the floor begging for mercy by the end. And damned if it isn't the perfect song for Eli.**

**And now a public service announcement from Jacksvoiceofreason: **

**I don't want to start a heated debate, but, before I go further in this story, l feel like I must take a minute to address Clare's feelings for Jake. I realize that many fans don't buy Clare's relationship with Jake and think of it as simply a superficial, hormone-driven, teen romance. I can understand where these fans are coming from. The relationship was not adequately developed on screen and did seem to go from 0 to 60 in just a few episodes. However, if I am to be fair to the characterization of Clare, I have to buy into it. **

**In all honesty, I don't think the fact that Clare "fell in love" with Jake is all that farfetched. After the accident and her parents' divorce, I think Clare would have grabbed on to anything that made her feel happy and secure, and Jake was there. And the more insecure Clare felt (with her father moving out; and her mother dating and then immediately remarrying; and an unmedicated, delusional Eli alternately vilifying her and trying to get back together with her), the more she would have clung to Jake, making him significantly more important in her life. Also, I have a hard time believing that Clare would have talked about forever or offered herself to someone for whom she only had superficial feelings - even if (in one of the best scenes ever) she did use a magazine quiz to determine if they were ready. **

**However, that being said, I also believe that Clare moved on to Jake without having dealt with her very real feelings for Eli. Indeed, she chose to repress her feelings for Eli in a desperate act of self-preservation – and we see the consequences of this repression time and time again in the interactions she has with him during Season 11 and certainly in any of Clare and Eli's interactions in this fiction.**

**All this is just my long-winded way of saying that, in order to understand my characterization of Clare, you are going to have to accept the fact that, at least in her mind, Clare did truly love Jake and that she loved him at the same time she was repressing her feelings for Eli. It's horribly convoluted and messy, but, hey, that's love for you. ; )**

**Also, remember that my little tale takes place in lieu of the current Degrassi episodes. I know my story has now become completely AU, but I hope people keep reading even though my Fiona couldn't give a damn about what Katie and Marisol think, my Imogen is way to secure in her eccentricity to let anyone change her, and my Eli has more pressing issues to deal with than whether or not to "climb out of the saddle" in order to push up the "monster of all hills" in spinning class. Seriously, are a lot of teenage boys taking spinning classes these days? Am I that out of touch with high schoolers? ; )**

**I do not own Degrassi or any of the characters associated with it. I also do not own **_**Romeo and Juliet**_** (the Shakespeare play or the Baz Luhrmann movie) or the amazingly iconic John Hughes movie **_**Sixteen Candles**_**.**

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><p>…<p>

"Eli!" Clare cried, her voice adding another layer to the harsh cacophony of the Toronto night. She pulled her coat tightly around herself and sprinted after his shadowy figure which was rapidly disappearing into the icy darkness. "Eli! Please, wait!"

As she stumbled forward cursing her choice of footwear, Clare couldn't help but acknowledge the overwhelming sense déjà vu. She had definitely been in this situation before. In fact, if she were being honest, ever since she and Eli had crashed into each other's lives, it seemed as if one of them was always running after the other – one of them always storming away in fury – one of them always following, plaintively yelling apologies or recriminations. It was exhausting, really. And unfortunately for Clare, this time, Eli was showing no signs of slowing down.

Clare knew that there was no way she would be able to keep up with him – not in heels and a party dress. The cold was already seeping up over her toes and down the soles of her feet making any movement difficult. She stopped, panting heavily and, in desperation, pulled out the girl card. She hated to play it; but he left her no other option

"Eli, please!" she cried loudly into the night. "Please don't walk away and leave me alone in the city at night! Please, Eli!" Her voice broke beseechingly.

In the distance, she saw his shoulders slump and his head hang. However, he dutifully stopped and turned around.

Wrapping her arms around her torso in a protective gesture, Clare cautiously approached him.

Even in the hazy glow of the street lights, Clare could see Eli's red eyes and the shiny tracks of the tears he had hastily wiped away.

"Thanks," she breathed when she was close enough to be audible. "These shoes aren't really made for running," she tried to joke, smiling uncomfortably.

Eli just closed his eyes and set his mouth determinedly in a thin line.

"Eli, I don't know what you want me to say. I just…" Clare began. What could she say? Really, she had done nothing wrong. She had simply made the choice to take the next physical step with the guy who had been her boyfriend at the time. In fact, when it came down to it, it really wasn't anyone's business but her own. However, she realized that all this didn't make it any less hurtful to Eli.

"I don't want you to say anything, Clare," Eli said tensely, his voice hoarse. "I don't want to talk to you right now. I think I made that pretty clear by storming out of the party."

"Eli, please, I'm just trying to understand here…"

"Is it true?" he asked harshly, cutting her off. "Is it true what Imogen said? Were you going to sleep with Jake?" His voice cracked on the last syllable.

Clare shifted her gaze to the cold pavement. "Yes," she admitted tiredly. Hesitatingly she dared a glance at Eli who was looking up at the streetlight trying to control his emotions. "I don't know how she found out, but Imogen was right. I did offer to sleep with Jake, and he did reject me. And then … we… well, we broke-up," she explained, her voice still ragged from the fresh hurt and humiliation.

Eli winced and shook his head, as if he were trying to erase her words. Suddenly, he turned and started briskly walking away. He just needed to go – to get away – to process all of this. He needed to get the hell away from her before he lost it for real.

"Eli!" Clare called, her voice cutting through the furious muddle of his thoughts. "Eli, please don't leave me out here!"

Shit! Exhaling in exasperation, Eli whirled around and approached her. He couldn't talk to her right now. He couldn't even look at her. Hell, he didn't even know who she was anymore.

Without thinking, he grabbed her arm firmly and started propelling her back towards Fiona's loft.

"Eli, wait! What are you doing?" Clare cried, trying to twist out of his grasp.

"I'm not going to leave you here in the dark," Eli spat out, tightening his grip on her arm, "no matter what …." He inhaled shakily, stopping himself before he said too much. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll take you back to Adam and then go."

"I don't understand," Clare cried, trying desperately to keep up with Eli's frantic pace. She stumbled, and Eli jerked on her arm to keep her upright.

"Eli! I know that our break-up was intense," she pleaded, trying ineffectively to slow him down. "I realize that it's still hard for you – for both of us." She looked at him entreatingly. "But, Eli, I didn't cheat on you. Jake was my boyfriend at the time. You and I had broken-up."

"I know that Clare! Don't you think I know that?" Eli cried, increasing his pace.

Clare struggled to keep up with him to prevent herself from being dragged. She could feel the painful, red patches on the back of her heels where her skin had been rubbed raw by her shoes.

"Then I don't understand. I get that you were hurt – are hurt – that I moved on so quickly, but, Eli, I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't do anything to intentionally hurt you. Besides, Jake and I didn't go through with it. We broke up. I'm not with Jake anymore."

"But you wanted to sleep with him! To sleep with HIM?" With Jake? What happened to your vow, Clare? What happened to your beliefs?"

Marshaling all of her strength, Clare planted her heels and violently wrenched herself out of Eli's grasp. "What happened to my beliefs? You know damn well what happened to them, Eli? You were there when my parents' marriage imploded. You were there when I started questioning everything that they had ever taught me. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I offered to sleep with you first, and you turned me down." She shook her head, her gaze indignant. "In fact, if anyone should be upset here, it should be me. I threw myself at two different guys, two guys who both claimed that they loved me, and they both roundly rejected me."

"Damn it, Clare! That was different and you know it," Eli argued heatedly. "You didn't really want to spend the night with me; you just were afraid that you were losing me like your mom was losing your dad. You thought we were too different, and you were trying to change yourself for me. I turned you down because I knew – I knew that that wasn't who you were."

"And you didn't want me to see your room," Clare argued, her eyes furious. "Let's not forget that you didn't want me to know about your hoarding."

"Yes, fine – we've already established that I'm crazy, Clare. You don't have to keep bringing it up," Eli said acidly. He paused, looking at her intently. "But you know what? Even if my room had been spotless, I wouldn't have gone through with it, Clare. I knew how much your vow meant to you. I knew how much the whole 'sacrament' of marriage meant to you."

"Well, you know what, Eli, shit happens!" The uncharacteristic obscenity slipped easily from her lips, causing Eli to step back a pace.

"People change!" Clare continued, her eyes filling with tears. "God!" she cried in exasperation, rubbing angrily at her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You want to know what happened to all of my ideals and beliefs, Eli? You really want to know?" Her voice trembled with intensity. "I found out that the reason my parents divorced was because my father had been cheating on my mother – repeatedly—with different women." She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. "The whole time I thought that we were just one, big, happy family, my dad was screwing someone on the side." She broke off and tried to regain control of her emotions.

"And then, as soon as Dad left, Mom started going out at night – with men - and coming home tipsy at all hours of the morning. And she wouldn't even talk to me. She just told me it wasn't any of my business. As if, after fifteen years of having the sanctity of holy matrimony shoved down my throat, I was just supposed to accept that my parents' marriage was a hallow sham – I was just supposed to deal with it on my own. God, Eli, these were the people who drilled it into my head that I had to wait until marriage – these were the people who convinced me to take my abstinence vow -these were my role models!"

Eli set his jaw determinedly, refusing to be swayed by Clare's obvious distress. "But with Jake? God, Clare – we had just broken up!" He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I understand that you jumped into a relationship with him to help you forget what we went through. But tell me, please, how the hell did that relationship progress so far and so fast that you – the girl who made a freaking vow to wait until marriage, who wore a piece of jewelry that announced that vow to the world – would have propositioned Jake?"

He started pacing back and forth agitatedly. "Did what we had mean so little to you that you were willing to give yourself so completely to another guy so soon after we broke-up? Fuck!" he rubbed his forehead viciously. "I feel like a total fool! Here I was thinking what we had was this epic love. I told myself that it was OK that I was still hung up on you – that it was understandable that I was having such a hard time getting over you- because what we had was so deep, so extraordinary. But it wasn't! At least, not to you! You weren't having a hard time getting over me. Oh no, you couldn't wait to jump into the arms of another guy – or, should I say, to jump into the bed of another guy!" He glared at her. "Shit, Clare! I don't even know you anymore."

"Are you seriously doing this?" Clare spat out, her voice loud and indignant. "Are you seriously trying to make me feel bad – to make me feel ashamed for choosing to sleep with my own boyfriend?" She glared at him in fury. "I don't know if you realize this, Eli, but, of the two of us, I am the only one who is still a virgin so your little lecture on sexual morality doesn't really hold much weight."

"The only reason you still are a virgin is because Jake rejected you," Eli cried bitterly. "So you can just drop the whole holier than thou attitude. It doesn't go with your dress," he cruelly smirked, suddenly wanting to hurt – wanting to wound.

"And would it matter to you if he hadn't? What if he hadn't said no? What if I had gone through with it? What if I had slept with Jake? Would you still be here talking to me or would you be forced to shun me for being a fallen woman – for not living up to your sainted expectations?" She shook her head in exasperation, stomping her frozen feet to try and regain feeling.

"God! You are such a hypocrite, Eli! You lost your virginity at fifteen! You slept with Julia repeatedly; you shared a room with her! Yet you still feel that you have the moral high ground to call me out for choosing to sleep with my boyfriend?"

"I loved Julia!" Eli shouted furiously. "I LOVED her!"

"And I loved Jake!" Clare cried back, her eyes glowing with rage.

"Then why aren't you still with him?" Eli cried, pain clearly marking his tone. "If you are so fucking in love with Jake then tell me why you are here with me! Tell me why you aren't still with him!"

"Because he didn't want me, OK?" Clare cried, her face crumpling, despite her best efforts. "Because when I offered to sleep with him – when I told him that I was ready – when I started talking about forever, he freaked out. Is this what you want to hear, Eli? Do you want me to go through every humiliating detail? Because I will!" She furiously swiped at her eyes and sniffed loudly, gathering her strength.

"I loved him. I offered myself to him. And he…God! … he couldn't get away fast enough." She bit her lip and looked up at the sky trying to control her tears. "That's why we are not still together. He didn't want me. He didn't want ME! Is that clear enough for you, Eli?"

Eli closed his eyes tightly, his face levying the blow of her words. There it was – the fact that would change everything.

All this time, he had fooled himself into thinking that Clare's relationship with Jake was just a rebound relationship – something to help Clare move past their own volatile romance. But she loved Jake. In fact, she loved him so much that she was willing to break her vow for him. She loved him so much that she would still be with him had he not broken-up with her. It was time for Eli to face the hard truth. He and Clare's relationship wasn't the epic romance that he built it up to be. He and Clare weren't these tragic, star-crossed lovers whose love had only been cut short by circumstances out of their control. No, in Clare's eyes, he was just one of her ex-boyfriends – the crazy one – the one sandwiched between KC, the first guy she had kissed, and Jake, the guy to whom she was willing to give everything. And, if he continued his friendship with her, he would have to stand by and watch her move on to other guys – to guys who would mean more to her than he had meant to her.

He breathed in and out to steady himself, trying desperately to turn off his brain – to bury the recent information – to staunch the pain. Carefully, he turned to Clare, his face guarded. "Come on, Clare," he said defeatedly. "Let me walk you back." Not waiting to see if she followed, Eli turned and started walking.

Through swollen eyes, Clare watched his retreating figure. She closed her eyes tiredly. When was it going to get easy? Was it ever going to get easy? It was so difficult – her relationship with Eli. It was like living with an open wound. Every time you thought you were healing, the scab would break open and blood would start oozing out again, staining everything –polluting everything. Shaking her head wearily, Clare turned and hurried to catch up.

They walked in uncomfortable silence, Clare unconsciously rubbing the place were Eli had grabbed her arm.

The night seemed suffocatingly dense – oppressively pushing on them, weighing them down with its substantial bulk. Clare tried to think of something to say; but really, what was there to say? She blinked tiredly and dared a look at Eli.

Eli cleared his throat gruffly, breaking through the muddy, viscous silence. "I'm sorry, Clare," he said tightly. "Your romantic life isn't any of my business. I shouldn't have yelled at you." He shook his head exhaustedly. "It seems like I'm always yelling at you; you don't deserve it. I'm sorry."

Clare looked at him apprehensively. "Thank you," she said tentatively. "And I'm sorry that you were hurt by the whole thing. It wasn't my intention to …"

"It's fine," Eli said dismissively.

They walked the rest of the way back to Fiona's loft in silence; the awkward tension billowing around them.

At the front of Fiona's building, Eli turned and looked at Clare sadly.

"Adam will give you a ride home," Eli said quietly. "I'm going to walk home – clear my head a bit."

"OK," Clare said softly. Tentatively she placed her hand on Eli's arm. "I'll see you on Monday." She tried a half-hearted smile. "We'll tackle that God awful economics essay you've been putting off."

"No," Eli said weakly. He forced himself to look at Clare, putting his own hand over hers gently. "I really appreciate everything you've done for me Clare. I really ..." His voice broke. "I never could have caught up by myself. You've helped me so much. But I …" He stopped and swallowed. "I can't do this anymore. It's just too hard."

"But, Eli…" Clare started, her eyes filling with tears.

"No, please, Clare. Don't fight me on this." He gave a weak, wavering smile. "You told me that, after the accident, you had to move on to protect yourself. Well, this is me protecting myself, Clare." He bit his lip and blinked back tears. "I just can't do this anymore. It hurts too much. I thought I could do it. I thought I could handle it. But I can't. I'm sorry," he choked, "so, so sorry. I wish it could be different. I wish I could be stronger. But I'm not."

Clare shook her head, her voice desperate. "Don't … Eli, please…"

"I have to Clare."

"But I didn't sleep with him. He rejected me. We broke-up," Clare cried frantically. She tightened her grip on his hand. "We can still be friends, Eli. I can still tutor you. Please. I don't even see Jake much anymore."

"It doesn't matter. This is not about him. This is about me."

He released her hand and reached out to gently touch her cheek. "Thanks for everything, Edwards. I'll … uh…see you around."

With a strangled cry, he turned and walked quickly into the night, leaving Clare shaking and stunned on the front walk of Fiona's loft.

* * *

><p>…<p>

Eli sighed and finished the last equation of his trig assignment. It was borderline pathetic, but he still came down to the dining room table every weekday at four to work on homework. Despite everything that had happened, Clare had him well trained.

Dutifully, he took a pen and crossed out the purple, color-coded assignments on the chart, taking a moment to trace over Clare's handwriting with his finger.

It had been two weeks since Fiona's party – two weeks since he had said goodbye to Clare. He still saw her in the halls occasionally and, of course, in English. However, aside from a few sad smiles and polite enquiries into how he was, she kept her distance. She, of all people, understood why he was doing what he was doing; she understood his need to protect himself.

Eli dropped his head into his hands tiredly.

"How's it going, baby?" CeCe asked, coming up behind him and putting a soft hand on Eli's head.

"Just peachy," Eli huffed sarcastically. "I'm living the high life, can't you tell?"

"Oh, honey," CeCe soothed, sitting down beside Eli at the table. "It'll get better."

"Will it?" Eli asked bitingly. "Because right now, it sure as hell doesn't seem like it." He rested his head on the table defeatedly.

CeCe carefully cleared away Eli's homework, pausing to look sadly at Clare's homemade chart. "How's the homework going?" she queried gently.

"It's going," Eli said flatly. "It's more difficult without … um … now."

CeCe brushed her fingers through the hair at the back of Eli's neck. She hated to see him like this – so listless - so defeated.

"Eli, what actually happened between you and Clare?" CeCe dared to ask, softly moving her hand and smoothing Eli's hair away from his forehead. "She didn't really have to work longer hours at the newspaper, did she?"

Eli shook his head wearily.

"Then what happened, baby? Everything was going so well. The two of you were getting along – just like the old days." She brushed a hand over Eli's back. "You seemed so happy. It was so good to see you happy."

Eli closed his eyes and exhaled. "I told her I couldn't be around her anymore," he croaked wearily.

CeCe looked at him, perplexed. "Oh, sweetheart, why?"

"It was just too hard," Eli tried to explain. "I just couldn't do it."

"But I don't understand. You couldn't do what, honey?" CeCe prompted, continuing her gentle caresses.

"I couldn't be around her. I couldn't pretend that I was perfectly fine just being her friend – pretend that I was totally over her," Eli admitted hoarsely, trying to keep his mind from flashing back to that horrible night when he had told Clare goodbye.

"Oh, Eli," CeCe soothed sadly. "What happened? Was Clare too uncomfortable to continue the friendship knowing that you still had feelings for her?"

"No, nothing like that," Eli replied dully.

"Then what changed?"

"I finally got past my insane delusions and realized that Clare had never truly loved me like I loved her," Eli spit out bitterly. "I finally realized that I could never be to her what she was – what she is – to me."

"Oh, Eli, that's not true," CeCe protested, looking at him disbelievingly.

"Yes it is, Mom," Eli replied heatedly, his head pounding. "It's totally pathetic, but it's true. Here I was thinking that Clare and I had something really special, but it wasn't special at all – at least, not to her. Our whole relationship was just a stupid joke. And I was the punch line. God! I feel like the biggest jackass in the universe right now."

"Oh, Eli! I think you're wrong about all of this," CeCe argued.

"Well, you don't know anything about it!" Eli maintained angrily, raising his head and unsuccessfully trying to shake CeCe's hand off of his back. "You weren't there, Mom." He looked at her and rubbed his eyes in frustration. "You just see what you want to see. But you don't know – you don't really know anything about what happened!"

"Yes, yes," CeCe replied firmly, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "I realize that, as the mother of a teenager, I'm not supposed to know anything, but I do know that that girl loved you – that she loves you." She shook her head sadly. "Eli, anyone with eyes can see the way she looks at you."

"No, Mom, don't you get it? I never really meant anything to Clare!" Eli vehemently protested. "Sure, she told me she loved me when we were dating, but it wasn't real love. In her mind, what we had was a silly, high school romance – something to pass the time until a new and better prospect came around."

"Eli!" CeCe cried. "I can't believe that you think that." She grabbed Clare's homework chart. "If Clare thought what you had was so superficial and meaningless, she wouldn't have spent hours of her time making this thing for you. She wouldn't have cared if you passed your classes or if you went to college. She wouldn't have come day after day to help you catch-up."

Eli dismissively waved away CeCe's protests. "No, damn it, you don't understand, Mom," he argued bitterly. "Clare's a good person. She believes in helping others. She didn't want to see me fail. But, she doesn't love me – she never really did. Hell, she barely waited a week after our break-up to start dating someone else – that's how much of an impact I had on her life."

"Yes, but, sweetheart, that doesn't prove that she didn't love you," CeCe countered. "People cope with break-ups in many different ways – especially traumatic break-ups."

"But she didn't just date him, Mom. She loved him." Eli pressed his lips together, a pained expression on his face. "Don't you get it? She loved HIM. We had just broken-up, and she fell in love with another guy. Doesn't that prove that her love for me wasn't all that strong in the first place?"

"Baby Boy, you can't condemn Clare for moving on. She was hurting; she tried to find comfort," CeCe gently pointed out.

"No, you still don't get it!" Eli cried, his voice rising in volume. "She played me! Maybe she didn't mean to – but she did just the same." Eli closed his eyes, his face scrunching up in hurt.

"God, Mom, after Julia, I thought it was over for me." He rubbed his face roughly. "I thought I would never feel the same love for a girl again. And then Clare came into my life and turned it completely upside down, and I fell – hard. And, it was amazing." He blinked his eyes trying to fight back the angry tears that threatened to fall.

"Suddenly life didn't seem so bleak," he continued. "Suddenly, I was excited to get up in the morning. And, for a while there, I was happy. I was truly happy again." He shook his head. "And then, everything went to shit. Everything came crashing down around me. Suddenly, Clare was gone. She was with someone else. And I was, once again, alone."

"But, sweetheart, you told me that you had talked through all of this with Clare—that you understood why she left – why she moved on so quickly," CeCe pointed out, still not understanding how everything had gone so terribly wrong that Eli would cut Clare out of his life completely.

"I did, Mom," Eli said wearily. "But somehow after all of that I still deluded myself into thinking that Clare's relationship with Jake was the superficial one. I thought she was using Jake to get over me."

"Well, she probably was .." CeCe broke-in.

"No," Eli interjected. "She fell in love with Jake – so much so that she was willing to give him everything." He emphasized the last word meaningfully, grimacing in pain.

"Oh, Eli," CeCe comforted, her voice soft. "Just because Clare fell in love with someone else – just because she felt comfortable enough to think about taking that relationship to the next level - doesn't mean that she loved you any less. You guys had something special, honey."

"Ha!" Eli cried viciously. "I thought we did. I thought we had this epic love story – like Romeo and Juliet. But we didn't. No, in our own little, fucked-up version of the play, Romeo kills himself for love, and instead of following suit, Juliet goes off with that idiotic fool Paris and lives happily ever after – without even a backwards glance at poor, delusional Romeo."

"Only she didn't," CeCe reminded him, her voice serious. "She didn't live happily ever after. In fact, I would bet that things for Juliet haven't been all that happy either."

"It doesn't matter, Mom!" Eli said exasperated. Why did he even bother trying to explain this to CeCe when she was so obviously set on defending Clare? How could she not see it? How could she not see how he had been played? How could she not see that he had never been anything significant to Clare?

"But it does, Eli," CeCe replied firmly. She ruffled his hair, shaking her head in frustrated resignation.

"Look, sweetheart, I blame myself for a good part of this." She bit her lip thoughtfully before exhaling in exasperation. "I used to let you watch all of those crappy soap operas with me when you were just a kid. No wonder you have such a totally ass backward view of love."

"God, Mom, what are you talking about?" Eli asked annoyed. It was useless talking to women about relationship problems; they just didn't understand.

"Baby, I know that you are hurting and that all of this seems incredibly dire at the moment. But, sweetheart, you have completely unrealistic expectations when it comes to love and relationships."

"I do not! I …"

"No, Eli, you do," CeCe said decisively. She looked at him, her eyes serious. "You and Clare aren't star-crossed lovers and neither were you and Julia." She softened her voice at the mention of Julia, but continued on resolutely.

"I hate to break it to you, kid, but love isn't this uncontrollable, all-consuming force that you've made it out to be. That's attraction – or lust, if we're being honest." She put her hand on Eli's arm, locking eyes with him. "Love is the choice you make after the lust has worn off, after the bloom is off the goddamn rose." She shook her head, thinking about the naïve view of love she had had at Eli's age. No wonder the poor kid was so confused. In this case, the apple certainly didn't fall far from the tree.

"Honey, love isn't written in the stars," she continued. "It's written in the eight loads of laundry you did even though you had a killer headache or the three feet of snow you shoveled off the driveway when it was so cold that the shovel kept sticking to the damn asphalt. Despite what you've read, love isn't pining after someone and refusing to move on after a break-up. Love is holding someone in their time of need. And as much as I adore the movie, no matter what Leo DiCaprio says, love isn't stabbing yourself because your 'soul mate' idiotically committed suicide. Love is patiently cleaning vomit off of your clothes and then showing up at the hospital the next day." She smoothed a hand through Eli's hair.

"Baby Boy, love isn't about grand gestures – risking your life for someone or saving yourself for someone. It's about the little things. It's about this," she said holding up Clare's chart. "It's about showing up every day to help someone out. In fact, as unromantic as it seems, when it comes down to it, love is all about showing up." She smiled at Eli who was looking at her skeptically.

"You really think your dad and I are star-crossed lovers?" CeCe asked with a smirk. "You really think ours is an epic love story for the ages?" She laughed.

"Honey, we met at a Motley Crue concert when your dad threw-up on my shoes. I couldn't stand him for the first few weeks I knew him. And even then he had to practically beg me to go out with him because I was hung up on some other guy who I thought I was 'fated' to be with." She smiled at the memory.

"I'm sorry to burst your balloon, but with your dad and me, there were no lightning bolts or music from the heavens. It wasn't love at first sight or any of that fairy tale bullshit. Your dad was just a good guy who made me laugh." She paused thoughtfully, remembering.

"Did you know that I said 'no' the first time your dad asked me to marry him?" she asked, looking at Eli intently.

"No," Eli said shocked. "Really?"

"Yeah, I did," CeCe replied. "To this day, it's my biggest regret. You see, I was waiting for that John Hughes moment – you know that moment when the four-door sedan pulls away from the curb to reveal the gorgeous guy waiting by his Porsche while a song by The Thompson Twins plays in the background?" She shook her head in disbelief, laughing at her own stupidity.

"Yep, I almost lost your dad because I was a fucking idiot." She smirked at Eli. "I told him I couldn't marry him because I wasn't 'head over heels' in love with him – I told him I wasn't feeling it the way I was 'supposed' to feel it. I broke his heart. And I moved on to one of those gorgeous guys with the Porsche who listened to The Thompson Twins and who treated me like crap."

"But, how did you end up with Dad then?" Eli asked shocked to hear that his parents hadn't always been together.

"I saw him at a club months later. He was with another girl who was really into him. They were laughing and joking, and I remembered when he used to laugh with me like that. And I went home that night and took a good, hard look at myself. I realized that my life with your dad was a hell of a lot happier than my life without him. Suddenly, lightning bolts and Porsches and The Thompson Twins didn't seem so important to me." She smiled.

"I called him and apologized for being such an idiot; and we met for coffee and then dinner and then dessert and then…"

"OK, OK, I get the picture," Eli complained, putting his hands over his ears.

CeCe laughed. "We sure as hell weren't Romeo and Juliet. We weren't perfect. We both had flaws – a lot of flaws; and we both had made lots of mistakes." She smirked knowingly.

"You may find this hard to believe, kid, but we didn't save ourselves for each other. Your dad didn't proclaim his love for me from the highest mountain; and I didn't swoon at his every glance. We weren't soul mates or destined to be together or any of that soap opera shit. We made the choice to be together. We make the choice to be together every damn day."

She reached out and touched Eli's cheek. "You expect too much from love, Baby Boy. You expected too much from Julia. You expect too much from Clare. And you sure as hell expect too much from yourself."

"But…"

"Clare loves you, Eli," CeCe broke in. "She left you because she loved you. And just because she briefly found love with someone else doesn't lessen the love she has for you." She shook her head, raising her hand in a cautionary gesture.

"Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that Clare is ready to risk getting back together with you or that she will ever be ready. You both were really hurt the first time around, and it's going to take a lot of courage on both of your parts to take that chance again. But don't think that she didn't love you – don't think she doesn't love you - because that's completely unfair to her not to mention batshit crazy, to use the professional, medical term."

Eli smiled, and CeCe fondly rubbed his head.

"OK, kiddo," she said affectionately. "The parental lecture is now over." CeCe patted him on the back and rose from the table. "I'll leave you to finish up."

"Mom," Eli said.

CeCe stopped in the doorway and turned around.

"If love is a choice, how do you get someone to choose you?"

CeCe smiled sadly. "You can't. You can only show her that, despite the past – despite all the arguments and challenges – despite the fact that you guys didn't work out the first time around - that you are a good choice."

"But, I'm not," Eli said flatly.

"Baby Boy, you are kind and sweet and funny and intelligent …"

"And sick."

"Yes, but you are trying to get better, and, someday, you will – I know it."

She smiled at Eli reassuringly. "Clare loves you, honey. I can see it in her eyes. She may not be able to choose you right now. She's only sixteen. She's just a child – you both are. But the friendship you guys have – the love and care that you guys have for each other – it's pretty damn awesome."

"It's just so difficult to be around her and not have her, you know?" Eli said frustrated.

"I know, honey. But, I think you need her in your life. I think that, even if the two of you never move past friendship again, your life will be better with Clare in it. And I know for a fact that her life will be better with you in it."

"Ha!" Eli scoffed sarcastically. "Sure! Just what Clare needs – a little more craziness in her life. I mean her life would be so boring without all the panic attacks and break-downs and car crashes – not to mention the knife fights and ..."

"Hey, Eli," CeCe said firmly, her eyes stern. "You can cut that shit out right now. That's my son you are talking about, and you can damn well bet MY life is better with him in it." She turned to go once again.

"Hey, Mom," Eli called softly.

Again she turned.

"Thanks for …" He broke off hoarsely. "Just thanks."

CeCe smiled at her son, her eyes shining. "Anytime, Baby Boy. Anytime."


	14. Extraordinary Girl

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 13**

**Extraordinary Girl**

**Holy long-windedness, Batman, this is a behemoth of a chapter! Before I started this tale, I vowed to include, at least, one EClare interaction in each chapter. So, in order to keep that vow, this chapter is insanely long. You may want to take a short intermission halfway through to give your eyes a break. **

**Moving on - how can I create a playlist for Eli and Clare that doesn't include Green Day's "Extraordinary Girl"? The simple answer is that I can't. Clare is so often maligned for not being completely and totally supportive of Eli, regardless of his mood; his mental state; or his unpredictable, unstable, and sometimes dangerous behavior. Yet, too often, no thought is given to the fact that being in a relationship with someone who suffers from a serious mood disorder is incredibly difficult. It definitely ain't no cake walk, that's for damn sure (pun intended). : )**

**As I've said before, Clare is not a saint. She is certainly not perfect. And she absolutely makes mistakes. However, in my opinion, considering all the times she has stood up for others at her own expense – all the times she has put her own needs aside to help her friends – all the times she has been expected to just suck it up and deal because she is the mature one- she is pretty, damn extraordinary. Check out the song. You won't be sorry.**

**Also, I just want to say that I have absolutely nothing against Imogen and Jake. I think they are incredibly interesting (not to mention, hilarious) characters who need to be fleshed out a bit to reach their full potential. They are not villains; they, like all of **_**Degrassi's**_** characters, are simply human. However, this is not their story so, unfortunately, I cannot delve into their motivations without ruining the continuity of this piece. Suffice it to say - they have reasons for doing the things that they do.**

**I do not own **_**Degrassi**_** or any of the characters associated with it.**

**If you haven't reviewed, this would be an awesome opportunity to let me know what you think. Over 14,000 words! Damn!**

****Facepalm Moment: I totally realize that I used the wrong spelling of "too" in my last author's note (stupid, stupid, last minute edit). I would love to go back and correct it, but I can't figure out to do it without sending out new alerts. It's almost as bad as my autocorrect changing Sylvia Plath to Sylvia Path in my other fiction. Oh well, I guess I need to learn not to sweat the small stuff (she says through gritted teeth as the sweat drips down her forehead in freaking rivers). ; )**

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><p>…<p>

Clare sighed and defeatedly closed her book, glancing wearily at the red numbers of her clock radio. It was another endless Saturday afternoon. Already today she had meticulously cleaned and organized her room, rearranged her closet, and finished all of her homework. And finally, having exhausted all of the tasks and chores she could think of, she had tried to submerge herself in some mindless, vampire fiction; but even the racy, undemanding prose couldn't maintain her interest for more than a minute or two.

Exhaling resignedly, she raised her head and dully stared out of the window at the icy, gray downpour that was currently shrouding all of Toronto. If only the rain would let up for a little bit, she could escape the house – go for a walk or to the library – go somewhere. She hated this – being home with nothing to do. As long as she kept busy, she could trick her brain into thinking that everything was OK, that she wasn't hurting. But these endless, quiet, weekend days were difficult to fill; and, as much as she tried, she couldn't keep her mind from dipping into dangerous territory.

It had been two weeks since Fiona's party - two weeks since Eli had told her he couldn't be around her anymore. At the very deepest level, she understood exactly where Eli was coming from. She understood the necessity for self-preservation better than most people, and she couldn't blame Eli for wanting to protect himself. But that didn't mean that it didn't hurt like hell.

She missed him – more than she thought she would. She missed CeCe and Bullfrog and spending time at Eli's house. She missed the easy camaraderie of hanging out with Eli and Adam – all the inside jokes and the endearingly offensive insults. Heck, she even missed the stupid things like the video game tournaments and the comic book analogies and the horror movie marathons. Sure, she still spent time with Adam; they had lunch together almost every day. But it just wasn't the same. It was truly pathetic, but Clare felt like there was a huge, gaping hole in her life – a hole that, despite her best efforts, just couldn't be filled with menial tasks and random business.

If only she had something to do – somewhere to go – someone to see. Fiona had tried to reach out to Clare a number of times after the disastrous final act of the party. However, as much as she appreciated Fiona's efforts, Clare had politely declined. It was obvious that Imogen had it out for her; and Clare thought it best to stay as far away from Imogen's circle of friends as she possibly could. Beside, Fiona was Eli's friend first, and Eli needed his friends around him right now. Clare would be fine; she could take care of herself. She would manage. She always did.

The one silver lining in this horrible mess was that Jake had completely backed off. Clare didn't know if it was because he was angry at her for asking for some distance or because she was no longer obviously hanging out with Eli, but Jake didn't really seem all that interested in her life anymore. They interacted civilly at the dinner table and during other family functions, but, thankfully, he didn't press for anything more. And, she had to admit, it was getting a little easier to be around him. She still couldn't look at him without feeling the humiliating bitterness and pain of his rejection, but, at least, she no longer felt nauseous every time Jake smiled or spoke. "Baby steps, Clare. Baby steps," she shakily reminded herself.

She closed her eyes and wondered what Eli was up to today. Was he keeping up with his homework? Was he finding some peace and stability now that she had disconnected herself from his life?

God, she missed talking to him! She hadn't realized how much she looked forward to their study time – to their heated discussions and snarky banter. "But, then again," she reminded herself, flashing back to Eli's hurt and anger the night of Fiona's party, "maybe Eli was right." Maybe it was better this way. They had too much history together. There were too many ghosts of issues past haunting them. In fact, when it came down to it, the sad truth was that, no matter how strong their friendship was – no matter how much they wanted it to work – as long as they were around each other, someone was always going to end up hurt. Maybe it was best just to stop the hurt - just cut their losses and go their separate ways. She closed her eyes tiredly, thinking of life without Eli.

The doorbell rang, startling Clare from her pessimistic reverie. She wondered who would be coming to visit on a day like today but figured it wasn't any of her concern. She certainly wasn't expecting anyone; let someone else get the door.

Slouching down against her pillows, she once more turned her gaze to the rain.

The doorbell rang again; its strident chords again interrupting Clare's gray thoughts. Sighing, she slowly rose from her bed, throwing her novel on the bedside table, and resignedly descended the stairs to answer the door. Did nobody hear the freaking doorbell? Where the heck was everybody?

"All right, all right, I'm coming - I'm coming," she called testily as the doorbell rang yet again. Whoever it was was certainly persistent.

Clare opened the door hesitatingly, her eyes widening in surprise. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

Jenna Middleton stood on the landing, completely drenched, her blond hair sticking to her face, her blue eyes wary. "Hey, Clare," Jenna squeaked out nervously. "How are you?"

Clare looked at Jenna puzzled. "Um… I'm fine." Suddenly, she remembered her manners and stood aside to let Jenna in. "Come in. You're soaked."

"Yeah," Jenna said, running a hand through her tangled hair. "It's raining cats and dogs out there," she said with fake brightness. She looked anxiously around the living room as if searching for something.

"So," Clare offered, trying not to be ungracious but completely baffled to why Jenna would be paying her a visit. "What's up?"

"Oh, yes, um," Jenna stalled, again looking nervously around Clare's house. "Um… is Jake here?"

"Jake?" Clare questioned, her voice rising incredulously.

"Yeah.. um… he invited me over to work on some music," Jenna explained. "We're writing some songs together. He's a really talented musician, you know." Jenna blushed and looked at the carpet.

"Oh," Clare breathed. She felt her stomach churn violently. God! What was going on here? Jake wasn't pursuing Jenna now, was he? No, he wouldn't do that to her. He knew about Clare's history with Jenna – the fact that KC had humiliatingly dumped Clare for Jenna – the fact that Jenna had encouraged this dumping, happily forfeiting her friendship with Clare in favor of a hot and heavy relationship with Clare's recent ex. Jake wouldn't go there – surely not.

"Hey, … uh, Jenna," Jake called from the top of the stairs, his face red and his eyes bright and anxious. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap, the impression of his pillow case still marring his cheek. Cautiously, he threw Clare an uneasy glance as she stood in dumbfounded silence watching the interaction.

Clearing his throat nervously, Jake turned his gaze back to Jenna who stood dripping in the foyer. "I'm glad you made it. I didn't know if you would come considering the monsoon going on out there." His voice was unusually loud with a forced brightness to it, and he ran his hand through his hair distractedly. Suddenly, as if he realized how foolish he looked speaking from the top of the staircase, Jake descended the steps two at a time, his nervous smile morphing into a panicked grimace the nearer he got to the two girls.

"Hey, Jake," Jenna replied, her own smile wide and her eyes alight. "Of course I came. A little rain can't stop me," she said flirtatiously. "Although, I didn't bring my guitar. I didn't want it to get wet in this weather."

"That's OK," Jake assured her, warily glancing at Clare out of the corner of his eye. "We can … um … both use mine." He gestured to the living room, anxiously clearing his throat. "Why don't we work in here?" He placed his hand on the small of Jenna's back and firmly directed her away from Clare.

"Yeah … um… make yourself at home," he said to Jenna, gesturing to the couch. "Can I get you something to drink or anything?" he asked politely, pausing in his nervous agitation to take a moment to really look at her, a sweet smile breaking out over his features.

"No," Jenna blushed. "I'm good." She smiled back at Jake and then looked over at Clare uneasily.

Suddenly coming to her senses, Clare colored. "Oh, um… I'll leave you guys to work on …" her mind went blank. All she could think about was getting the heck out of the house. She knew that look that Jake was giving Jenna. He used to give her the same look – that boyishly flirty look—the look that made her feel like she was the only thing worth looking at in the room - the look that used to make her heart flutter and her stomach drop. This couldn't be happening. God, keep it together Clare.

"Um, yeah, I'll just um… go." She grabbed her raincoat and purse from the hall, numbly checking to make sure she had her phone. Hastily, she threw open the door, inadvertently letting in a torrent of icy wind and rain.

"You're going outside?" Jenna asked shocked. "Clare, it's freezing and pouring rain."

"Yeah," Clare explained, her eyes starting to fill with tears. No, no, no – not in front of them. "I'm just going to take a little walk. I won't be gone long."

"Cool! That sounds great! Nothing like a good walk to get the blood flowing," Jake said enthusiastically, clearly relieved at the promise of Clare's exit and a subsequent end to the uncomfortable tension. "Be safe, Clare." He gave her a sheepish smile and turned his focus back to Jenna.

Jenna gave Clare a pitying look, biting her lip nervously.

With a weak wave in Jenna and Jake's direction, Clare stepped out into the bitterly cold deluge, pulling the door shut behind her.

The tears started as soon as the door was closed, mingling with the icy droplets of rain that slammed into her face in the fury of the downpour. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

So this was going to happen. Jake was going to pursue Jenna – "as if Jenna really needs pursuing," she thought furiously, if not a bit unfairly. And apparently Jake felt absolutely no compunction about it. He didn't even care enough to do it behind Clare's back. No, he had the gall to invite Jenna to the house – to the house! – knowing full well that Clare would be there. Heck, he didn't even have enough courtesy to open the door for Jenna and save Clare from the humiliating experience of having to invite Jenna inside – to invite her inside so she could flirt with yet another boy who had broken Clare's heart. God it was just so messed up! But then, Clare chastised herself, what did she really expect? She knew—she KNEW- that she shouldn't have fallen so hard for Jake in the first place.

She roughly wiped her eyes, pushing her sodden bangs back behind her ear. Jeez, she was such a fool! In the back of her mind, she had known that the situation was an impossible one from the moment that her mother had admitted that she was dating Jake's father. But, like some masochistic idiot, she fell anyway. She fell for his slow, lazy smile and those charmingly boyish good looks. She fell for the way that Jake had made her feel - safe and content - wanted without being smothered. She fell for his confidence and easiness. And after the emotional roller coaster ride that was her relationship with Eli, she fell for the security and steadiness that Jake had offered. And it had been so good – so, so good - at least, for a little while. Unfortunately, all that security and steadiness on which they had built their relationship had ultimately turned out to be a façade – just a shining, false front pasted on to a weak foundation. God! How could she have been so naïve? Wasn't she supposed to be the smart one?

A car honked noisily, and she looked up and noticed that she had unintentionally been walking in the direction of Eli's house. Abruptly, she stopped and forced herself to turn around. As much as she wanted to go and knock on his door – as much as she wanted to talk to him, to vent to him, heck, even just to sit quietly with him and watch him study, she knew that she could never be that selfish. Eli needed to distance himself from her; he needed to heal and to move on. She certainly couldn't run to him and cry about how painful it was to see Jake moving on without her. That would be the very definition of callousness. But, God, what she wouldn't give to be sitting at his dining room table working out trigonometry equations instead of having a break-down in the middle of a torrential downpour like some pathetic heroine in B-grade romance.

She braced herself against the freezing rain and started slowly walking back to her house. How was she going to do this? How was she going to survive watching Jake and Jenna together? What if they became a serious couple?

When Jake broke-up with her, Clare knew that it wouldn't be long before he moved on. She had reconciled herself to that fact. After all, Jake was handsome and funny and charming and nice; and he definitely had a way with the fairer sex. But she never thought he would move on to Jenna, and she never thought that Jake would flaunt his new interest directly in her face. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks as she thought about Jake's hand on Jenna's back. Lord, what if he decided to sleep with her? Jake's bedroom was right next to hers. Would she be forced to listen to the two of them? Before she could stop it, her mind flashed back to that awful night when she had offered herself to Jake, and he had rejected her, roughly pushing her off of him in his anxiousness to get away. No! No! This was too much to ask of her! This wasn't fair! She couldn't be expected to live like this – not in her own house! She had to do something.

Screwing up her courage, Clare ducked under the overhang of one of the buildings lining the street and pulled her phone out of her purse. She scrolled through her contacts until she found her father's number and, taking a few steadying breaths, connected the call.

"Clarebear!" Randall answered on the third ring, his voice jubilant. "It's so good to hear from you. I thought you had forgotten all about your poor, lonely, old dad."

"Dad, you're the one who doesn't return my phone calls," Clare reminded him flatly.

"Well, sweetie, you know work's been crazy," Randall tried to excuse himself. "They've got me going and coming so much I'm lucky if I remember to eat." He laughed awkwardly. "How are you, sweetheart? How's everything at home?"

"Well, Dad," Clare said, her voice high with anxiety, "that's kind of why I'm calling."

"What's wrong, Clare?" Randall queried, his voice suddenly concerned.

"Dad," Clare said, trying to keep her voice even. She was just going to come right out and say it. It wasn't like she was asking for much. He was her father after all. "Would it be OK if I came to live with you for a while?" she asked in a rush, not able to keep the pleading tone out of her voice. She paused, waiting for her father to respond; however, the phone remained silent. "I promise, I wouldn't get in the way," she hurried to add. "You wouldn't have to worry about me or anything. I could sleep in your guest bedroom and take the city bus to Degrassi. I'm pretty self- sufficient and…"

"Clare, Clare," Randall interjected. "What's all this about, honey? Why don't you want to live with your mother anymore?"

"It's not that I don't want to live with Mom." Clare's voice broke. "It's just different now that Glen and Jake are living there. It's just not the same, Dad. It's just … I just… I just miss the way things used to be." She fought to keep her voice steady.

"Oh, honey," Randall said. "Things are never going to be the way they used to be." He paused, searching for the right words. "And, Clare, they certainly are not going to be the way they used to be at my condo."

"I know that, Dad," Clare cried hurriedly. "But I miss you, and I feel like I never see you. And I think Mom is just really busy with Glen and everything; she doesn't need me to worry about too. I think … I think a little a change would be good for everyone." She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. "Can I please come and live with you? Can we just try it for a little while? Just see how it works … please?"

Randall let out an exasperated breath. "Clare, sweetie, I don't think that's a good idea. Your mother would be devastated."

"No, no, I'll talk to her," Clare protested. "She'll understand. She has Glen and Jake now and…"

"Clare," Randall interrupted. "This isn't really a good time for me to have you move in."

Clare swallowed, her throat starting to close up. "What do you mean?"

Randall sighed. "Well, I wanted to take you out to dinner and tell you this in person, but … honey, I invited Tracy to move in with me."

Clare closed her eyes, stunned at the news. "Tracy? Your secretary?" she asked, trying to keep the accusation out of her tone. Tracy was one her father's "other women" and thus one of the underlying causes of her parents' divorce.

"Yes, Clare," Randall replied. "She moved in two weeks ago, and I don't really think that now would be a good time for you to move in too. You know, Tracy's young. She doesn't know how to deal with kids."

God! Clare breathed in and out, trying not to cry. "But, that's fine. I'm not a kid anymore, Dad. I promise I won't be a problem. I'll stay out of your way. I'll stay out of her way. You won't even know that I'm there. I'll…"

"Clare, honey, it just isn't going to work right now," Randall cut in with finality. "I'm sorry."

Hot tears streamed down Clare's face as she fought frantically to keep it together. She swallowed the lump of disappointment clogging her throat. "OK," she whispered.

"Oh, honey," Randall tried to soothe. "I'm sure things will get better for you. You'll adjust to your new family. It's good to have a full house. I know how much you miss Darcy. You'd hate it here all by yourself."

"Yeah," Clare breathed, her voice thick with tears. "You're probably right."

Randall cleared his throat awkwardly. "Listen, Clarebear, I have to go," he said trying to sound regretful. "But I really want to get together with you soon, OK? Maybe you and Tracy and I can all get together for dinner sometime next week - go to that Italian restaurant that you love so much. How does that sound?"

Clare sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Good. That sounds good," she said shakily.

"Great," Randall cried, ignoring his daughter's obvious distress in his desire to get off the phone. "Well, it's been wonderful talking to you, Princess. I'll see you soon, OK?"

"OK," Clare croaked.

"I love you, Clarebear."

"I love you too, Daddy," Clare whispered. She closed her eyes as the line went dead.

Silently, Clare stood under the overhang, staring out into the rainy street. She felt numb – not just with cold but with everything that had just happened. She had known that living with her dad would be a long shot, but she still hadn't expected such instant and complete rejection. But then why shouldn't he reject her? Everyone else had.

Wiping her eyes resignedly, she stepped back out into the torrent of rain, letting the freezing water fall across her face and body, hoping its icy wetness would numb the painful ache in her chest.

Taking a few moments to steady herself, she finally turned back towards her house dragging her feet to slow her pace. Maybe, if she took her time getting back, Jenna would be gone. However, all too soon, her house came into view.

Outside of the door to her house, Clare rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was totally drenched. Her raincoat had long ago given up its courageous battle to stay dry and was now clinging damply to her. Her hair hung soddenly in her face. Every extremity was numb and frozen. She needed a hot shower and a good cry in her bed. Oh God, please, please say that Jenna had left.

Cautiously, Clare pushed open the door and quietly stepped inside.

Jake and Jenna were still at it. They were sitting close to each other, Jake's arms around Jenna showing her the correct fingering for a new chord. She was smiling up at him, and he was looking down at her, a teasing grin on his face.

Clare caught her breath, her stomach roiling. Not bothering to take off her soaked jacket, she bolted toward her bedroom - closing her eyes tightly in an attempt to avoid seeing anything else. At the base of the staircase, Clare felt herself slam into a hard bulk. Her eyes flew open in shock.

"Clare," Glen cried laughingly. "Hey, where's the fire?" His smile faded as he got a look at Clare's disheveled appearance, at her red eyes and pained expression. He stared at her questioningly and then looked over to the living room to where Jenna and Jake were absorbed with each other, comprehension dawning on his features.

"Clare, come with me," he said authoritatively, turning her around and propelling her back towards the door. He grabbed his raincoat out of the closet.

"Helen! Clare and I are going to run a few errands. We'll be back soon."

"OK," Helen called from upstairs. "Drive safely in this weather, honey."

Not bothering to say goodbye to Jake or to Jake's guest, Glen grabbed Clare's arm and steered her out the door and into his truck. After helping her into the passenger seat, he got into the driver's side and turned the ignition, cranking up the heater and directing all of the vents in Clare's direction.

He looked at her defeated posture and numb expression. "Oh, Clare," he said softly sympathetic. He pulled off his jacket and tried to wrap it around her shoulders.

Clare closed her eyes and bit her lip. A strangled sob broke from her chest, and she fought to swallow it.

"It's OK, sweetheart," Glen comforted, patting Clare's hand. "It's OK."

"I'm… I'm sorry," Clare stuttered her breathing ragged. "I'm so sorry. It seems like I'm always crying on you."

"Clare," Glen said firmly, squeezing her hand. "You just go ahead and cry. Get it all out." He turned and faced the front of the car, turning on the windshield wipers. "I'm just going to drive around a little bit, OK? Give you some time?"

Clare nodded and put her hands over her face quietly sobbing into them, as Glen put the truck in drive and cautiously pulled out into the traffic.

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><p>…<p>

Clare wasn't sure how long Glen had been aimlessly driving around, but she opened her eyes when she felt the truck come to a complete stop. Swallowing hard, Clare looked up through puffy, tired eyes noticing that Glen had parked at a construction site. A majestically beautiful house stood unfinished in the middle of a mud-filled yard.

"Where are we?" Clare croaked hoarsely.

"This is the new project I've been working on," Glen explained. "I figured we could go inside – maybe talk a little. And I could show you what I've been up to."

Clare tried for a weak smile. "Sure. Sounds good." She handed Glen back his jacket, tiredly opening the truck door and following Glen out into the rain.

She had to leapfrog from one piece of plywood to another in order to avoid the thick, black mud that surrounded the building site. But finally, Glen was unlocking the door to the house and ushering Clare inside.

The inside of the structure was largely unfinished – the walls framed but not drywalled. The floor was still the cold, gray concrete of the foundation; and yellow and black electrical wires stuck out from the skeletal walls like coiling snakes. However, Clare could get a clear sense of the beauty of each room from its outline.

"This is beautiful, Glen," she said softly, walking from one room to another.

"Yeah. It's going to be pretty amazing when we're finished," Glen acknowledged. He grabbed two, big, white buckets that had originally held nails and turned them over. "Take a bucket," he offered. "It's not fancy, but it works."

Clare smiled a half smile and dutifully sat on one of the overturned buckets.

Glen went into another room and came back with two bottles of water one of which he handed to Clare.

"I'm really sorry I lost it back there," Clare tried to apologize. "I don't know what came over me."

"I know exactly what came over you," Glen said, shaking his head. "Clare, you don't have to pretend. I know what happened between you and Jake."

Clare colored in response. How did he know? How much had Jake told him? Surely Jake hadn't mentioned the reason they had broken up. Oh please, God!

"I don't know all the details," Glen hastened to add, noticing Clare's blush. "But I do know that you and Jake had a pretty serious relationship and that he broke it off. And I know that it must be damn hard for you to watch him with another girl."

"I… I," Clare stuttered, totally humiliated. "I should have known better. I should have called it off when we found out about you and Mom. I just thought…" Her voice trailed off embarrassed.

"It's difficult to just switch off feelings;" Glen said softly, "especially when the person you have feelings for is so much a part of your life. I don't blame you two for continuing your relationship," he continued, smiling gently at Clare. "I wish for your sake you hadn't. But I don't blame you."

Clare felt her tears start to return, and she rubbed her eyes to try and keep them at bay. "It's just seeing him with Jenna – in my living room," Clare spit out bitterly. "I just feel so humiliated – so stupid." She shook her head angrily. "God, there must really be something wrong with me!"

"Clare, you have nothing to be humiliated about. If anyone is acting like a clueless idiot in this situation, it's Jake." Glen rolled his eyes in exasperated frustration. "He's a good kid, Clare. He has a good heart; he just doesn't think things through sometimes." Glen rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Look, I don't want to belittle what you're going through or anything; but, although I love my son and I'd gladly take a bullet for him, in this case, I don't think he's worth all of your tears."

Clare smiled sadly. "It's not just Jake," she admitted quietly. "I've just been having a rough couple of weeks." She took a sip of her water and closed her eyes wearily.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Glen asked sincerely.

Clare shook her head tiredly. She just didn't have the energy to get into it all again. However, when she opened her mouth to tell Glen this, she couldn't stop the emotional torrent of words that came tumbling out. Before she even realized what she was doing, she was telling Glen all about KC and Jenna and the hurt and humiliation she had felt being rejected by both of them. Then, without thinking, she launched into the tale of her relationship with Eli- the instant connection between them - the amazing early days and the frightening last days. Glen already knew a few details about the accident and the break-up, but Clare couldn't stop herself from sharing with him all the terror that she had felt when Eli crashed his car and all the guilt she had suffered through when she had to walk away from him.

She honestly couldn't stop herself from talking, the compulsion to speak overwhelming her usually careful filter. It was as if her internal dam had finally broken and all of the emotions she had been so cautiously suppressing were spilling out in a violent surge.

She filled Glen in on her relationship with Jake, being careful not to say too much. She told him about her initial reticence to start anything with Jake so soon after her messy break-up – about calling off the relationship when she found her parents' divorce papers – about deciding that they would take a chance. She admitted that she had fallen hard for the stability and safety Jake had offered her. She didn't go into details about the break-up, just alluding to the fact that she wanted more than Jake had wanted.

For the most part, Glen listened quietly, although he did ask about her recent friendship with Eli, wondering what had happened after the night she spent in the hospital with the sick boy.

She told Glen all about tutoring Eli and trying to reestablish their friendship. She told him about how they had finally dealt with some of the issues that had been left unresolved after the break-up. And finally, through a fresh set of tears, she told him all about Eli's recent rejection of her.

"He had to get away from me," she explained, shakily. "It was too hard for him. I didn't mean to, but I guess I kept hurting him. So … um … he told me he couldn't be around me anymore."

"But he didn't reject you, Clare," Glen argued.

"It sure feels like he did." She laughed tearfully. Shaking her head, she looked up at the unfinished ceiling in a gesture of helplessness. "God! I feel like some kind of pariah right now. I feel like no one can stand being around me – Eli, Jake, my father."

"Your father?" Glen questioned, puzzled.

Clare looked at Glen warily, wondering if she should share this next part. She didn't want to hurt his feelings or anything.

"I, uh, called my dad today," she admitted, not daring to meet Glen's eyes. "I asked him if I could come and live with him for a little while." She bit her lip, her voice taking on a pleading tone. "It's not that I don't like living with you or anything. It's just really difficult to be around Jake so soon after the break-up."

"Oh, Clare," Glen replied, his eyes sympathetic. "God, the last thing I wanted to do when I married your mother was make you feel uncomfortable in your own home."

"No, no, you didn't do anything," Clare hastily added. "It's just … seeing Jake with Jenna… and, I don't know! I just feel so humiliated and hurt and, well, incredibly stupid. And I'm sure it's not the ideal situation for Jake either. Not to mention, you and Mom are newlyweds. You don't need to be dealing with all of this drama." She paused, breathing hard. "I just thought a little change might be good for everyone."

"Well, I would hate to lose you," Glen admitted sadly. "And I know your mother would too. But, if you think it would be good for you, I will support you." He reached out and touched her hand gently. "I just want things to be easy for you, Clare – for once. If it would make you happy to go and live with your dad, I'll back you up."

Clare swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back a new film of tears. "I really appreciate it, Glen," she croaked out. "But … um… he said 'no'."

Glen frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean? He said 'no'? He won't let you come and live with him?"

"Um," Clare said embarrassed. "It's just that he asked his secretary, - well, I guess she's his girlfriend now – to move in with him. And he thought it would be too much for her right now to deal with living with a teenager, and… uh… I guess he's always working too and, well," she bowed her head, "he didn't want me either."

"Son of a bitch!" Glen huffed angrily under his breath. He pressed his lips together tightly before rising and walking toward the kitchen area in agitation. "He's too busy to parent his child? He doesn't want his daughter to get in the way of his new relationship? Are you kidding me?" he muttered angrily. Turning back to Clare, he looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Clare. I know he's your father, and I don't want to say anything bad about him. But, that being said, he's being a complete jackass right now."

Clare looked at Glen with wide eyes.

Glen let out an exasperated breath. "Look, Clare, I'm not the best at things like this. I've never had a daughter before, and I don't quite know how to say what I'm trying to say, but you can't…" Suddenly he stopped and rubbed his head, contemplating his next move. After a few moments of silence, he walked over to Clare.

"Come on," he said reaching out a hand to her. "Let me give you a tour of this place."

Baffled at the complete turn in conversation, Clare stood and took his hand.

They started in the great room, Glen pointing out the architectural features and artistic touches that he and his team had painstakingly created. Moving into the kitchen, Glen started detailing how everything would look once it was all finished – the choices of wood and granite, the stained glass inlays, the light fixtures, the trim, the cabinetry, the stone backsplash, and all of the other aesthetic details.

Finding his stride, Glen pulled Clare upstairs, pointing out the beautiful intricacy of the staircase and the way the hall lighting was wired so that the new owner's art collection would be perfectly illuminated.

Finally, he ushered an admiringly bewildered Clare into the master bedroom.

The room was immense with the skeleton of gorgeous raised ceilings. A magnificent, unfinished archway lead into an attached sitting room. One wall of this room was almost entirely shrouded in glass - huge bay windows setting off a stunning view of downtown Toronto.

"Oh wow," Clare breathed. "Glen, this is truly incredible. I can't believe how much time and effort has gone into this place. You must be so proud."

"I am," Glen admitted. "I'm really proud." He reached out to softly grab Clare's arm, his eyes alight. "But, Clare, all this work, all this time, all this effort, it's all for someone else. I won't get to appreciate this view or cook in the kitchen or admire the amazing lighting. It's my job, and I get paid for it, but I won't get to really enjoy all my work." His voice was serious as he tried to convey to Clare what he wanted to tell her.

"Yeah, I didn't even think of that," Clare replied softly. "It's kind of sad, huh?"

"It depends on how you look at it," Glen said. He tightened his grip on her arm, wanting her to understand. "But don't you see - this," he gestured to the room, "is like relationships, Clare." His tone was pleading, desperate for her to comprehend. "You give so much of yourself and put in so much effort and time, and sometimes – more often than not, I'm afraid,—you don't even get to experience the rewards for more than a brief moment."

"What do you mean?" Clare said even more confused.

"Look, this house is going to be amazing whether I live here or not," Glen tried to explain. "The new owner may take out a wall or remodel the kitchen. But I left my mark on it. I created it – I shaped it – I contributed to it. I have to find the pride in that. I have to put my best effort into it right now and not worry about the fact that I will have to move on – that it will have to move on."

"I don't think I'm following," Clare said in puzzlement, wondering how a house could possibly move on.

"Arggh!" Glen cried, pulling at his hair. Why was it so difficult talking to girls?

"Listen, Clare, I know you are feeling embarrassed, humiliated, and alone right now. I know you are feeling bad about yourself because you think that Jake and Eli and your dad have rejected you. But, honey, what I'm trying to say is that you have nothing to feel badly about. You left your mark on each of those guys. You changed them; you helped them. You helped them to get through hardships - to feel love and accepted – to grow. You should be proud, not embarrassed." He paced back and forth in front of her.

"So it didn't work out with Jake. So your first boyfriend picked another girl, and Eli needs some distance. So your father is acting like a," he stopped himself just in time. "So your father is acting completely selfishly right now." He turned to her making eye contact. "Clare, it's not a reflection on you. You put in your time! You put in your effort! You did your job! You can move on with pride."

Clare looked at Glen through glassy eyes, inhaling shakily as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

"Don't beat yourself up about this, Clare," Glen said comfortingly. "What Jake does or Eli does or your father does is completely out of your control. The only thing you have control over is yourself. You're the architect – you're the builder in your life. No one else has the power. And you can build yourself up or you can tear yourself down. No one else can do it for you." He stopped, and looked at Clare gently. "Don't let anyone make you feel humiliated or stupid. Don't let them make you feel unworthy or ashamed or rejected. Don't let them make you feel like you don't belong – in your house or in your family. Because, Clare, you are an amazing work of architecture. And, believe me, as one of Toronto's most respected general contractors, I should know." He grinned, a sheepish look on his face.

Clare wiped away the few tears that had fallen during his little speech. She cleared her throat and smiled a watery smile. "How long have you been waiting to use that building metaphor?" she teased gently.

Glen grinned. "It just came to me," he admitted, laughing. "Was it too hokey?"

Clare chuckled softly, feeling some of the tension of the day releasing. "I'm an amazing work of architecture," she said fondly. "I'm going to have to remember that one the next time I get in trouble with Mom."

Glen affectionately reached out and smoothed a piece of Clare's hair back from her face. "I don't know how to do this, Clare. I don't know anything about having a daughter. But I do know your father is one lucky son of a gun to have a daughter like you. And if he can't see that right now, he's … well, I can't say what I really want to say so I'll just say crazy," Glen said sheepishly.

"Thanks," Clare breathed. She dared a shy glance at Glen. "And, if it means anything, I think you are doing a really good job parenting a daughter."

Glen smiled at her, his relief showing in his eyes. He exhaled, trying to clear the heavy mood that had settled around them. "So, do you want to go out and get something to eat?" he asked, putting an arm around her shoulders and leading her out of the room. "Or we could drive around a little longer to make sure Jenny is gone before we get home."

Clare shook her head, smiling at the fact that Glen called Jenna by the wrong name. "No, you're right. I need to face this and get past it. I need to stop letting other people determine how I feel about myself. I need to stop letting people make me feel like I don't belong."

She smiled and shyly put her own arm around Glen. "Let's go home."

* * *

><p>…<p>

"Dude, Eli. I know you miss her, but this is getting a little ridiculous," Adam remarked watching as Eli's character was yet again brutally destroyed – its dismembered body lying gruesomely in a pool of blood. They had been playing video games for an hour now, but they had yet to get to the next level as Eli kept getting horribly eviscerated before they could advance.

"I know, I know," Eli apologized, throwing down the controller in frustration. "I'm sorry," he apologized hoarsely. "I'm just having a hard time focusing right now."

"I know," Adam replied, sympathy marking his tone. He sighed in exasperation. "Man, I hate to say I told you so, but I did tell you this whole thing wasn't a good idea," Adam said shaking his head. "You and Clare have too much history together. It was bound to blow up in your face."

"Seriously, Torres," Eli glared at Adam. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"Sorry, dude," Adam apologized, noticing Eli's tired, defeated expression. "Look, I know I've been hard on you about this; but, I was rooting for it to work out, you know."

"I know, Adam," Eli said flatly. He slumped back on his bed wearily.

After his talk with CeCe, Eli had thought seriously about trying to talk to Clare. He had even started writing out what he wanted to say to her. However, that little burst of optimism and determination had only lasted a few hours. And by the next day, Eli had come to his senses. The idea of opening himself up to all the hurt again was just too terrifying. He was already in a low swing; he didn't need anything else sending him over the edge. And, besides, it was useless anyway. In all honesty, after his angry break-down at Fiona's party when he had grabbed her – grabbed her, for fuck's sake - Clare would be crazy to want to be around him at all. Despite what CeCe said, too much had happened between him and Clare for them ever to be friends again. Why even kid himself? Hell, as much as he hated to admit it, Adam had been right the entire time; Eli had just been too caught up in his own delusional fairy tale to realize it.

But, God, he was miserable! He thought about her all the time – all the goddamn time. It killed him to watch her in the halls, watch her hanging out with Adam, watch her working in English, knowing that he couldn't go up and talk to her – knowing that he had to stay away.

"How's … how's she doing?" he dared to ask, not able to keep his mind from thinking about her.

"Well, you know Clare," Adam replied. "She puts on a brave face and says she's fine. But, I think she is really hurting."

Eli winced and closed his eyes.

"I think it's been hard on her," Adam admitted. "Not to mention, I think Jake and Jenna Middleton might be dating."

Eli sat up shocked. "What?"

"I don't know for sure," Adam explained hastily. "But I've seen them together in the halls, and it definitely looks like they are pretty close."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Eli spit out. "Doesn't Jake know about Clare's history with Jenna?"

"Dude, I have no idea," Adam said holding up his hands in surrender. "Don't shoot the messenger, man."

"Shit! That's just messed up," Eli said angrily. "Poor Clare."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure if she knows yet," Adam admitted uneasily. "Although, you know Jake. Subtlety is not his strong suit."

Eli shook his head angrily, his hands balling into fists. "Man, what I wouldn't give for the opportunity to beat the shit out of that guy," he said heatedly.

"Whoa, easy there, tiger," Adam cautioned. "You certainly don't need any more drama in your life. That's why you called it quits with Clare in the first place."

"Is that why?" Eli said tiredly, sinking back down on the bed, regret coloring his tone. "Because, for the life of me, I don't remember why I did it anymore."

"Yeah, Eli," Adam reminded him sternly. "Remember – you broke it off with her so that you wouldn't hurt so much – so that you could be happy."

"Well, that's working out so fucking well for me," Eli said sarcastically. "Look at me! Have you ever seen a happier person? Seriously I'm like the goddamn poster child for happiness."

"Give it time, man," Adam advised.

"How much time, Adam?" Eli asked tensely. He rubbed his eyes wearily. "You know, I told her I couldn't be around her because I didn't want to be hurt. But now that I don't have her in my life, I hurt all the time."

"Eli…" Adam warned.

"No, I mean it, Adam." He shook his head defeatedly. "Maybe I made a mistake."

"No you didn't, Eli," Adam argued, his voice firm. "Think about how bad you felt when you found out about Clare and Jake. And think about how bad it's going to feel if she starts dating someone else. You love her too much to just be her friend, Eli. You know that. Believe me, you did the right thing."

"It just sucks, Adam," Eli said hoarsely. "I hurt when I see her in the halls and can't talk to her. I hurt when I do my homework without her." He rubbed his face roughly. "I just fucking hurt."

"I know it's hard," Adam soothed. "But it will get easier."

"That's easy for you to say," Eli said bitterly. "You are still friends with her."

"Yeah, but I'm also not in love with her," Adam replied testily. God, were they really going to go through all of this again? There was nothing left of this dead horse to beat.

"So, if you were, you'd cut her out of your life?" Eli asked, a sudden thought flashing through his mind.

"What?" Adam questioned taken aback.

"If you, all of a sudden, developed feelings for Clare – if you suddenly fell in love with her, would you stop being her friend?" Eli's voice was quietly powerful.

"Come on, Eli..."

"No, Adam, I'm serious. Answer the damn question. If you were in love with Clare, would you cut her out of your life completely?"

"Well, I … I guess so," Adam said uneasily.

"Really, you would give up your friendship with Clare, just like that? Clare - the one who risked suspension to save your sorry ass from Fitz - the one who was there for you during that horrible time when your mother was pressuring you to be someone you weren't. Clare - the one who listened to all of your heartbreak over Fiona and assured you that any straight girl in her right mind would be incredibly lucky to have you as a boyfriend." He sat forward, gazing at Adam intensely. "You'd give up Clare - the first person you go to when you need someone to listen to you or someone to encourage you or someone to give you a good kick in the ass?"

"OK, man, I get the picture," Adam said uncomfortably.

"Because, I'm not sure if you would," Eli continued. "I think that your friendship with Clare is pretty damn important to you. And I think that you would put up with a lot just to keep her in your life."

Adam rubbed his neck nervously. Eli did have a point. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I think I made a mistake," he said his voice strong. "I think I was so concerned with Clare hurting me in the future that I didn't even realize how much it would hurt not to have her in my life right now." He blew out an exasperated breath. "I fucked up, Adam."

"But …"

"No, I really fucked up," Eli continued. "I need to talk to her."

"Wait, Eli. I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Adam tried. As much sense as he seemed to be making, the last thing Eli needed to do was go off half-cocked and confront Clare.

"The hell it's not," Eli cried. He looked at Adam, his gaze serious. "I need to talk to her," he repeated, his voice intense and powerful.

"Hold on, Eli! Really think this through, man. Are you sure that you want to go down this road again?" Adam questioned.

"I've never been more sure of something in my life," Eli said forcefully.

Adam sighed and shook his head. What could he do? Eli did have a point. When it came down to it, it would take a whole lot for Adam to cut Clare out of his life. How could he expect Eli to do it without a second thought?

"I'm still not completely convinced," Adam admitted warily. "But if you do end up talking to Clare, promise me that you will be honest with her."

"What do you mean?" Eli asked indignantly. "Of course, I'll be honest with her; that's what this whole thing is about."

"I mean it, Eli," Adam said tensely. "You can't ask her to be your friend without admitting how you really feel about her. She needs to know the whole truth so she can make an informed decision. She may not be so keen to reestablish your friendship if she knows that you are still totally in love with her."

"She already knows," Eli said uncomfortably.

"I don't care," Adam said firmly. "She needs to hear it from you. You need to be completely honest with her."

"I already told her," Eli admitted, "after the concert. I thought I told you all about that, Torres."

"No, Eli, after the concert, you alluded to the fact that you still weren't over her," Adam argued. "You said that you still had 'issues' you hadn't resolved, as if you were working on moving on." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "If you're going to do this, you need to tell her that you are still in love with her – that you HAVEN'T moved on and honestly don't know if you ever will. She needs to know that, man. She needs to know that any friendship with you will be tough to maintain."

Eli nodded his head. "I'll tell her," he promised. "I swear I will. I don't want to screw this up, Adam." Despite Adam's worried look, Eli suddenly felt lighter.

"When are you going to talk to her?" Adam asked, his voice uncertain but resigned.

"Maybe tomorrow after school," Eli replied, his stomach buzzing with nervous energy.

"I still think this is a crazy idea," Adam said worriedly.

"I know. But I have to do it," Eli replied.

"I know," Adam echoed. "Just … just promise me that, if she doesn't want to go down that road with you again, that you'll be OK – that you won't do something stupid."

Eli sighed in annoyance. "Adam, I'm not the same guy I was last spring. I'm taking my meds; I'm going to therapy." He grinned sheepishly, "Besides, I don't have a car anymore - unless, of course, you want to lend me yours."

"Not a chance in hell," Adam said with a smile. He looked at Eli tiredly. "You know I want you to be happy, dude. I just worry about you."

Eli smiled at Adam fondly, realizing how much his friendship with the younger boy meant to him. "Thanks, man," he said softly. "I appreciate it."

"Yeah, whatever," Adam smirked, breaking the serious atmosphere. He sighed in mock irritation and picked up his controller. "You think you can make it past this freaking level now without getting blown up, or do I need to call my grandma to come over and give you some pointers?"

Eli grinned and grabbed his own abandoned controller. "Prepare to be amazed, Torres."

* * *

><p>….<p>

Eli paced nervously in his living room. OK, he could do this. He could do this.

He put a shaking hand on his chest, willing his heart to slow its rapid beat. He could definitely do this – if he didn't die of a massive coronary first. Shit!

It had taken him two days to work up enough courage to approach Clare and ask for a meeting. And, even then, he had balked at telling her the truth. Instead, he had caught her after English and pretended that he couldn't understand one of the major trigonometry concepts that would be covered on the final. She had blushed uncomfortably and offered to go over it with him during her spare the next day. However, somehow he had talked her into coming by his house after her newspaper meeting. He felt bad at the blatant subterfuge, but he was worried that, if he told her the real reason he wanted to talk to her, she would run screaming or, at the very least, bitch slap him.

It was almost four. She would be here any minute. God, he was nervous. He was already sweating through his shirt. Oh no, did he smell? He raised his arm and sniffed. No, he was fine. He was fine.

Fuck! Would she just get here already? He was about to piss his pants in nervousness.

He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, noticing that his collar was wet with perspiration. Maybe he should change his shirt after all. The dampness was getting uncomfortable. He turned and hurriedly started making his way up the stairs, stripping off the offending garment. He was almost at the top of the stairs when the doorbell rang.

Eli paused like a deer in headlights. He looked at the door and then back to the sweaty shirt in his hand. Oh shit! What should he do? Should he change? Should he get the door?

The doorbell pealed again. Shit, shit, shit. Hurriedly, he threw the shirt back over his head and, trying to control his rapid breathing, went to answer the door.

Clare stood on the landing, her blue eyes wary. She glanced nervously at Eli and bit her lip. "Hey," she said softly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Eli swallowed, choking on his saliva. "Hey…huh…huh," he coughed. He gasped, trying to regain control.

Clare looked at him concerned. "Are you OK?" She started to reach around and pat him on the back but caught herself and withdrew her arm embarrassed.

Eli hacked a couple more times and shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine," he rasped out, his face red. "Come in," he croaked, standing aside to let Clare enter the house.

Instead of heading to the dining room table or into the living room, Clare hovered anxiously in the foyer, unsure of where to go.

"Did you want to work at the table?" she asked hesitantly. She colored again obviously uncomfortable to be back in his house. "It shouldn't take too long. It's a pretty simple concept," she hurried to add, trying to assure Eli that she wouldn't overstay her welcome.

"Um, no," Eli replied, his own voice abnormally tight. "I thought we could use the living room," he said turning and making his way towards the couch.

Clare looked at him uncertainly but gamely followed him into the living room. She hesitated but finally took a seat on the couch a good three feet away from Eli. She rifled in her book bag, pulling out a notebook and her trigonometry textbook.

Eli closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. He could do this. He could do this. He just needed to be honest with her.

"Eli," Clare questioned, concern marking her tone as she took in his anxious posture. "Are you OK?" Her eyes raked over his white face and the sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead and upper lip. "Do you need me to get you anything?" she asked nervously.

"No, no," Eli insisted. "I just…" he broke off. Get it together, Eli. "Clare, I…" he swallowed. Fuck it!

"Clare," he started again, his voice ragged. "I didn't ask you over here to do trigonometry," he admitted.

"Oh," Clare said nervously. She looked at him fearfully. He had begun shaking slightly, his eyes shining and intense. Oh God, was he going into a panic attack? "Eli, what's going on? Are you feeling anxious? Should I get your medication or call your mom?"

"No!" Eli cried loudly. He shook his head and struggled to calm himself. "I mean, I am feeling anxious, but I'm not having an anxiety attack." He cleared his throat. "I asked you over to talk to you, Clare," he blurted out. "I just … I mean… shit! I just really miss you."

Clare looked up at him stunned.

He rubbed his hand over his sweaty forehead. "Look, I've spent the last few weeks thinking about this. I've talked to CeCe and to Adam, and they both told me to just man up and be honest with you." He stood and started pacing, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

Clare looked at him, fear clouding her eyes. Be honest with her? What else did he have to be honest with her about? He had already told her he couldn't be around her – that she had let him down and broken his heart - that she wasn't who he thought she was. What else was he going to tell her? That she had ruined his life? That he hated her? But, wait – did he just say that he missed her?

"OK! I'm just going to come out and say it," Eli said, his voice raspy with nerves. "I was wrong, Clare. I was wrong. I thought it would be better for me if I cut all ties with you," Eli continued hastily. "But it wasn't. God, Clare, it so wasn't." He pushed his sweaty bangs out of his face.

"I don't want to freak you out," he said nervously. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or to ask you for something that you can't give. I don't want to suffocate you or come across as clingy or anything." He stopped, unsure of how to proceed. "But, if there's one thing I've learned from all of the crap that we've gone through this past year, it's that I have to be honest." He looked at her, intensity in his gaze. "And, Clare, honestly - I hate not having you in my life. It sucks."

Clare shifted uneasily on the couch and opened her mouth to speak. But Eli cut her off.

"No, please, just let me finish. Please - before I lose my nerve." He approached the couch again, sitting down tentatively next to Clare, his shaking knee grazing her own.

"Look, when I found out that you had offered to sleep with Jake, I was … well, damn it, Clare … I was hurt. I felt so betrayed – so stupid. Because, you see, I thought that your relationship with Jake was just a rebound relationship. I thought you were with him because you couldn't be with me because I was sick." He looked at her, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "I thought you were using him to try to get over me and that, if I ever got better, you would come back to me." He noticed her cheeks coloring and rushed on.

"So, when I found out that you actually loved him, so much so that you were willing to break your vow for him, I freaked out. Because, Clare, in my mind, we were still in love. We had never stopped loving each other. " He glanced nervously at Clare, noticing that her eyes had filled with tears.

"I couldn't even contemplate the fact that you loved Jake more than you had loved me," he admitted hoarsely, wincing at the thought.

"But…" Clare interjected.

"Please," Eli said softly, holding up his hand. He ran a hand through his hair causing it to stick up crazily. "When you told me that you loved him – that the only reason you weren't with him was because he had broken up with you, I started thinking that our whole relationship had just been some grand delusion that my damaged brain had created. And I couldn't deal with it. I started thinking that you had never really loved me and that I had just been some distraction for you – someone to hold your interest until someone better came around."

"Eli!" Clare interjected heatedly.

But he barreled on, not acknowledging her interruption. "I just couldn't even think about trying to maintain a friendship with you and watch you fall for other guys – watch you love them more than you loved me." He closed his eyes painfully. "So I pulled away. I thought that the only way to protect myself against the hurt and misery of watching you move on from me was to distance myself from you."

Clare swallowed noisily and looked up at the ceiling trying to keep her tears at bay.

Eli let out a pained sigh and grabbed her hand. "But, Clare, I was so miserable and hurt without you. I thought about you all the time. Shit! I came down to the goddamned dining room table every day at four to work on homework." He smiled a sad smile. "And every day I told myself that it would get better – that it would get easier. But it didn't. It just got harder."

Tentatively he tightened his grip on Clare's hand. "I missed you so much, Clare. I missed your voice and your laugh. I missed the way you got annoyed at me when I tried to avoid my work. I missed the way you smiled at me when I completed an assignment. I missed our discussions and our arguments. I missed your sarcastic insults and the way you blushed when I would insult you back or when I made a racy joke."

Clare bit her lip, afraid to meet his eyes.

"I missed you –everything about you." His voice broke. "And I realized that even if you never love me again – even if you fall in love with someone else, I would be crazy not to want you in my life. I don't know what it is about you, Clare, but you make me want to be a better person. You make me want to try." He broke off hoarsely, taking a minute to collect himself.

"Clare we were friends first – best friends." He looked at her sincerely. "And friends don't give up on each other even when things get tough and feelings get hurt. I would never give up on Adam, so why the hell would I ever give up on you?"

Clare closed her eyes tightly, her mind reeling. He wanted to be her friend once more? He wanted her back in his life? Was he being serious or would he just change his mind tomorrow and go off on her again?

"I'm sorry, Clare. I'm sorry I yelled at you at Fiona's and tried to make you feel bad for choosing Jake. I'm sorry that I acted like such a bully and grabbed on to you." He reached out and lightly caressed her arm. "I'm sorry that I put such stupid, unattainable expectations on you. I'm sorry that I kicked you out of my life. Believe me, you'll never know how sorry I am for that. But, please don't say it's too late." He moved his hand down her arm and grabbed her hand. "Please say that we can be friends again – that you want me in your life too." Eli realized that he was begging, but he didn't care. He just needed her. He needed her and was willing to take whatever she could give. His voice trailed off uncertainly, and he looked at her expectedly.

Clare shook her head in a daze. She concentrated on her breathing, slowly taking in the air and exhaling shakily. Her head was spinning and her heart hurt – it literally hurt. She couldn't believe everything that Eli had just said. He thought she had never loved him? He thought that she had loved Jake more than she had loved him? He thought he was just some silly distraction to her?

"Please, Clare, will you say something?" Eli begged, breaking through her jumbled thoughts.

Clare numbly looked at him. "Can I talk now?" she asked, her voice rough.

Eli nodded dumbly.

She cleared her throat, trying to find the right words. "God, Eli, I don't even know what to say. I feel completely blindsided," she admitted. "First you want me in your life, then you don't, and then you do, then you don't, and then you do. I'm starting to get whiplash here." She extracted her hand from Eli's and reached up to cover her face. She breathed into her hands for a few minutes to steady herself before uncovering her face and looking at Eli.

"You're not the only one who has been doing some major contemplation these last two weeks. I have too. And, honestly, I had just about convinced myself that you were totally right – that it would be better for both of us if we just went our separate ways."

Eli winced at her words. Oh please say that she didn't want to end things for good. Please.

"Look," she said her voice hoarse. "You were honest with me, and I feel like I should be honest with you – even if it hurts." She noticed the fear in Eli's eyes, but took a deep breath and soldiered on.

She looked at him earnestly. "Eli I…" she trailed off uncertainly. "I'm just … I'm just…" She huffed out an annoyed breath. "Well, first of all, I'm really angry with you for thinking that I never loved you." She looked at him, her eyes burning. "How could you even think that, especially after everything I said the first time you decided that you didn't want me in your life? You're a heck of a lot smarter than that, Eli."

"But Jake…" Eli tried to explain.

"No," Clare cut him off. "It's my turn to talk now." She closed her eyes and gathered herself. "I thought I made this clear last time, but, obviously, I didn't." She locked eyes with him.

"Look, Eli, the truth is that I was devastated by our break-up," she said, her voice earnest. "I felt so awful - for having to leave you. I realize that you think that I broke up with you because I didn't love you. But that's not true! I loved you, and I didn't ... I didn't stop loving you when we broke up," she admitted softly. "How could I? I couldn't just turn off my emotions like that." She cleared her throat nervously. "But, like I said before, I knew that I couldn't be with you. I knew that our relationship was completely unhealthy. And I was afraid. I was afraid of you, and I was afraid of my own feelings." She paused and bit her lip.

"Eli, I was worried that if I went back to you, if I spent time around you, I'd be sucked right back into a relationship with you." She continued hurriedly fearful that, if she stopped, she would chicken out. "So I decided that I had to move on. And Jake was there, and, at first, he was just a nice distraction from all the hurt and the guilt, but then I kind of fell for him." She blushed uncomfortably, and Eli dropped his gaze to the floor. "He was strong and steady and predictable – all the things that I needed at that time. But, Eli, just because I was with him didn't mean that I didn't love you."

She tentatively reached out and put her hand on Eli's hand, looking at him intently. "I didn't love Jake more. I loved you, and I loved Jake." She held up her hand to stop his protest. "Yes, I decided to sleep with him, but part of that was because I was afraid of losing him like I had lost everyone else, and I wanted to try to cement my relationship with him."

She laughed disparagingly. "Who knows if I would have even gone through with it, if he had said yes?" She dared a glance at Eli. "And who knows what would have happened between us if your illness had never materialized? After all, I did proposition you once, who's to say I wouldn't have again?" She blushed at his wide-eyed gaze but continued on.

"I didn't love him more," she said again, wanting Eli to understand this.

She cleared her throat roughly. "But I did love him. And I was devastated when he broke up with me." She looked at Eli tenderly. "I know what it's like, Eli – to be rejected by someone you love – to watch them move on. It sucks, I know."

Eli looked down at the carpet, afraid to meet her eye. "Do you still love him?" he asked quietly.

"I…" Clare started. "I don't know. I mean I know that I still really hurt. I haven't healed. But, I have to admit, it is getting a little easier." She looked at him, her gaze intense. "What about you?"

Startled, Eli looked up. "What do you mean?"

Clare colored but pushed on. "Is it getting any easier for you?" She hastily continued, her words rushing into each other. "I mean if we try this again, if we try being friends, are you going to be OK? I don't want to hurt you anymore, Eli." She barreled on, trying not to lose her nerve. "I mean, I miss you too. I miss hanging out with you and being your friend and talking to you. But I don't want this to be difficult for you. I don't want to hurt you. That's the last thing I want." She stopped, breathing hard.

Eli swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. OK, it was time to do this. He owed it to Adam – he owed it Clare – hell, he owed it to himself.

"There's something else I need to tell you," he said nervously, glancing up at her. "Adam made me promise that I had to lay everything out on the table in order to be fair to you." He cleared his throat anxiously.

"Clare, you have to know that I still love you." He met her eyes, his sincerity apparent. "I can handle just being friends. I swear I can! I want you in my life in any way you are willing to be. I just think that you need to know the truth even if it freaks you out. I love you. I never stopped loving you. And, I don't know how long it's going to take me to get over you. In fact, to be perfectly honest, right now, getting over you seems like a completely impossible feat." He looked at her, his eyes pleading.

She returned his gaze steadily.

"Look, I know it's going to be hard," Eli admitted shakily. "But, it would be harder not having you in my life. I'm sure of that." He looked at her entreatingly. "Clare, I can deal with the fact that you only want to be friends. I can deal with the fact that you don't love me anymore. I just can't deal with the idea of never seeing you."

Clare felt the flush of emotion spreading up from her stomach and over her chest. She looked at the sincerity in Eli's eyes – at the raw emotion. And before she could even process it, the words tumbled out. "But I do still love you."

The words hung in the air between them; time pausing silently in their wake. They stared at each other, barely remembering to breathe. Eli swallowed hard, realizing that his lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen. He took a gasping breath. "What?"

"I … uh…" Clare trailed off, her pulse racing. God, God, God, what was she saying? She couldn't love Eli. They just didn't work as a couple. Instantly, her brain was bombarded with images from their past – feuds, knife fights, yelling, car crashes, hurt, guilt, despair. She felt the tears spring to her eyes. Hastily she rose from the couch and walked to the other side of the room trying to gain control of her emotions.

"Clare?" Eli questioned, his voice cracking. "What do you mean?"

"God!" Clare cried. "I don't know. I don't know, Eli. That just came out." She paced back and forth agitatedly. "I mean, I can't get back together with you. I can't. It was too hard. And I'm still not over Jake, and I really need to work on myself like Glen said." She was babbling like a fool.

"Clare," Eli interjected, rising from the coach and cautiously approaching her. "It's OK. Just take a breath."

"No, Eli, this is bad; this is really bad," Clare cried tearfully, her voice high and hysterical. "I can't love you! I mean, of course, I love you – like I love Adam. But I can't be in love with you. I can't go through that again. I can't." She broke off and started crying for real – all of her hurt and fear and frustration coursing down her face in desperate tears.

Eli moved toward her and hesitantly put his hand on her arm. "It's OK Clare," he soothed. "It's OK. You don't have to do anything that you don't want to do. No one's going to force you to do anything."

"This is all just so messed up!" Clare cried, furiously wiping the tears from her face. "How did it get so messed up? I can't … I just can't…"

"Shh, Clare. It's OK. I promise it will be OK," Eli comforted. Was this really happening? Had Clare really just admitted to loving him? Was this for real?

"But it's not OK! It's not OK at all!" She turned to him, her eyes desperate. "I'm a mess, Eli. I'm a mess. I hurt all the time – all the freaking time. And I just don't want to hurt anymore. And I don't want to hurt you. And we are so good at hurting each other. And I just don't know what to do…"

Without thinking it through, Eli grabbed her and enveloped her in a crushing hug. "Shh, Clare. It's going to be OK." She tensed at his initial contact, but then he felt her shaking frame release into his embrace– her muscles relaxing and softening – her tense energy ebbing away. Cautiously, she slipped her arms around his torso, grasping his back tightly.

They stood silently holding each other for what seemed like hours - Clare's sobs finally subsiding into ragged hiccups. Hesitatingly, Eli broke the silence.

"What about this, Clare?" Eli began his voice unsure. "What if we just work on being friends again for a while and see where that takes us? And then, if we can do that and we both still feel the same way, we can cross that other bridge when we come to it."

Slowly, she lifted her tear stained face from his shoulder and looked at him. "I just don't know if I can do it," she whispered roughly. "I'm just so tired, Eli – so tired of all the drama and the hurt. I'm tired of not knowing where I stand - if today will be a day that you want me in your life or a day when you can't stand to be around me. I just … I just don't know if I have it in me to try again."

He looked back at her, his eyes alight with some unreadable emotion. "I think what we both need is some time," he said gently. "I need time to manage my illness and to figure out who I really am when I'm not in the midst of depression or a manic episode. And you need time to heal from Jake and to heal from the accident." He looked at her tear stained face, his eyes softening. "You need some time to learn to trust me again," he whispered, gently tracing one of the tracks of her tears with his fingertip. "We both need some time to learn to trust again." He pulled her close, resting his chin on her head and inhaling the scent of her shampoo. "Let's take some time, Clare. No pressure, OK?"

She pulled back gently to look at him, her gaze still unsure. "No pressure?" she questioned hoarsely.

"No pressure," he repeated, smiling at her.

Clare Edwards loved him. Maybe she didn't want to love him and maybe she would never be ready for another relationship with him. But she loved him. She. Loved. Him. He couldn't prevent the ecstatic grin that spread across his face at the thought.

They continued to hold each other silently, reveling in the small comfort the simple gesture brought. It had been a long time since they had felt so comfortable with each other – such a very long time.

After what seemed like hours but was, in reality, just a few minutes, Clare spoke.

"So, if we're going to do this," she started, her voice rough and hoarse, "if we're going to be friends again, does that mean you want my help studying for finals?" Her voice was muffled a bit by his shirt.

"Are you kidding me, Edwards?" Eli teased, smiling at the fact that, after such an intensely emotional and mind-blowing revelation, Clare's first thought was of homework. "Of course, I want your help. I've been completely lost without you."

Clare huffed sarcastically. "I'm sure you have."

"No, I'm serious, Clare," Eli said solemnly, daring to reach up and stroke her hair. "It just hasn't been the same without you." He drew her closer still, trying to convey how much she meant to him – how much he would be willing to give her.

In response to his tightening hold, Clare moved her head to Eli's shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent.

"Um, Eli?" she questioned softly.

"Yeah?" Eli replied distractedly, lost in the feeling of her warm embrace.

"Is there a reason you are wearing your shirt inside-out?" She reached up to pull on the tag of his t-shirt.

Eli grinned, his face coloring as he thought about how he had hastily thrown his shirt back on before he let her in. "Damn it, Edwards," he said pulling back and looking at her with mock annoyance. "You sure know how to kill a moment."

Clare smiled up at him, her eyes shining. Drama or not, her life was definitely better with Eli in it. She owed it to herself to keep trying. She owed it to herself not to give up. She owed it to herself to take some time.

"Well, you know, I do try," she said, pulling him close again.


	15. Here We Go Again

**After the Storm**

**Chapter 15**

**Here We Go Again**

**Raise the roof for the good ole' alternative rock band Everclear. Their album, **_**Songs From An American Movie**_**, **_**Volume One: Learning How to Smile**_** is my go to album when I am having a less than stellar day. And, in my opinion, the best song from that album is "Here We Go Again" (although "The Honeymoon Song" is a close second). Give them a listen. I bet you'll be converted. And Everclear's music goes down much more smoothly than the similarly named alcoholic beverage – or so I've heard (wink, wink).**

**I do not own Degrassi or any of its characters. I also do not **_**Pride and Prejudice**_**, the book or the amazing BBC teleplay with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle.**

**Thanks so much for all of the wonderful reviews. I truly appreciate each and every one of them.**

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><p>…<p>

Eli nervously adjusted his tie, smoothed down his hair, and pushed open the door to Alfredo's Italian Bistro and Wine Bar. He was almost ten minutes early, but he was too anxious and too cold to kill any more time uselessly pacing outside of the restaurant. He was meeting Clare for a romantic, celebratory dinner. All right, maybe she hadn't said it was going to be romantic, but it was going to be just the two of them – and they were going to be celebrating. He exhaled headily, thinking back over the events of the past week.

He had received three acceptance letters from colleges - big, impressive envelopes full of bold congratulations and glossy brochures. And one of those envelopes was from St. James College, a small, liberal arts school with an amazing creative writing program – in short, Eli's dream college. Even more exciting, based on the writing samples he had included in his application, St. James had offered him a pretty sizable scholarship for that same esteemed writing program that had made it his dream college. He almost couldn't wrap his brain around it. It was completely surreal. After one of the most harrowing years of his short life – after almost flunking out of high school in his senior year, he – Eli freaking Goldsworthy – was going to college. Shit, if someone had told him last spring that he would have his life so together that a prestigious college would be courting him, he would have gladly handed over his anti-psychotic medication and told them to take a few. But, St. James College wanted him; and they wanted him so much that they were willing to award him a scholarship. It was unreal.

Clare had been ecstatic, jumping up and down giddily and squealing with delight when she heard the news. She couldn't control the pride in her voice when she congratulated him, pulling him close in a tight embrace which took his breath away. It was she who had planned this little dinner, and he had readily agreed; her excitement at his acceptance contagious. However, Eli had to admit, as excited as he was at the prospect of going to St. James, he was almost more excited at the prospect of a dinner date with Clare.

Things had been going incredibly well between the two of them. Their friendship had grown and matured over the last few months until it was difficult to imagine how they had ever survived without each other.

Obviously, with his disorder, there were always going to be ups and downs. And there had been a particularly tense week in February when Clare had been forced to distance herself from him in an act of self-preservation. After one too many times serving as the convenient scapegoat for his frustration and anxiety, she had walked away – setting clear boundaries for what she would and would not tolerate - asking him to call her after he had worked out his issues in therapy. But he had accepted this, and they had recovered quickly - falling back into a close friendship. Little by little, she was learning to trust him again – learning to trust that the real Eli was still there even when he was in the midst of a downswing. And he was slowly learning how to manage those downswings and, even more importantly, learning how to communicate his needs without resorting to ultimatums and irrational anger.

Of course, the powerful tension between them hadn't subsided. Eli had kept good on his promise and was careful not to pressure Clare into more than she could handle. However, in all honesty, it was becoming increasingly difficult. It was difficult to hide the needy tone in his voice when he talked to her or the desperation in his touch whenever he casually brushed against her.

The ever present electric energy between them had reached new voltage levels - building and building, crackling and sparking with volatility. He was pretty sure Clare had picked up on this highly charged dynamic; but she had yet to acknowledge it. So he stoically suffered in silence, taking solace in the closeness of their friendship and hoping that something more would happen soon. That was why he was so excited about tonight. Tonight, he and Clare would be having dinner together - a dinner date at a fancy restaurant – just the two of them. Eli couldn't stop his face from heating and his heart from racing at the promise of the evening.

He approached the hostess desk nervously. "Yes, um, I'm meeting someone here," he said, his tone anxious and high. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice an octave. "I don't know if she is here yet or…"

The hostess smiled at him and waved him over. "Yes, she's here," she said. "If you would just follow me, Sir."

Eli nodded and obediently followed the woman as she led him through the maze of linen clad tables, their tops adorned with red glass candle holders and decorative bottles of Chianti. Clare had picked this place, wanting to treat Eli to something a bit more special than Cowboy Bob's Broke-Back Ribs at Little Miss Stakes. Although, truth be told, Eli would be fine eating at Frank's Hot Dog Hut, if it meant being alone with Clare.

The hostess led him to the entrance to a back room and opened the door with a sly smile. "After you, Sir, …"

"Surprise!"

Eli stepped back in shock, his wide-eyed gaze taking in the scene before him. The room had been decorated with gaudily colored streamers and bunches of bright balloons. A handmade, congratulatory banner hung on the back wall.

Wearing ridiculously festive party hats, CeCe and Bullfrog stood at the head of the table, their faces alight with pride and excitement. Fiona and Imogen stood next to them beaming – Fiona clutching an expensively wrapped present in her hand and Imogen doing her best impression of a unicorn by wearing a party hat in the middle of her forehead.

Adam energetically buzzed around the room, incessantly blowing on a noise-maker and taking video with his new phone. Grinning, he approached Eli and annoyingly held the device up to Eli's face in an attempt to capture an extreme close-up.

Eli's eyes sought Clare where she stood next to the foot of the table, a party hat perched on her curls and a shy smile on her face. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows cheekily. "Surprise," she mouthed, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Eli grinned at her and swatted Adam's phone away from his face. "What's going on, Edwards? What is all this?"

"Dude," Adam broke in, shoving a party hat on Eli's head and making sure to snap the elastic string around Eli's neck extra hard. "It's a freaking party – for you, Goldsworthy. Didn't the 'Congratulations Eli' banner give it away?" He pushed Eli's shoulder fondly. "Damn, son, are you sure you're bright enough to go to college?"

Eli playfully shoved Adam back and looked at Clare quizzically.

"Well, I thought as long as we were celebrating your success, we might as well include everybody who had a hand in it," Clare explained. She looked at Eli intently. "Everyone is really proud of you; they all wanted the opportunity help you celebrate."

"Oh, honey, this was all Clare's idea; so be sweet," CeCe swooped in, giving Eli a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "She thought it would be a nice way of marking your big college acceptance." She surveyed Eli with tears in her eyes, grabbing his cheeks in her hands. "I can't believe my baby boy is going to college," she said shakily. "You were just born."

"All right, Mom. I'm not leaving right this minute," Eli groaned in embarrassment, his cheeks coloring at her emotional outburst.

CeCe just smiled fondly at Eli and pulled him further into the room where he was bombarded with congratulations from all sides.

"I am so proud of you!" Fiona cried enveloping Eli in a tight embrace. "I knew that you could do it. You are one of the smartest people I know, and, believe me, I know quite a lot of people." She grinned at him, her eyes misting up a bit.

"Oh, Eli, I don't know what I'm going to do without you next year," Fiona continued sadly, looking at him with puppy dog eyes. "Are you sure I can't talk you into going to college in New York? You could live with me in my loft – God knows it has enough bedrooms." She grabbed Eli's arm and gestured grandly. "Just think of all the adventures we could have – two, wholesome, Canadian kids set loose in the big city!"

Eli laughed at Fiona's exuberance and her choice of descriptive adjective; the last time he had been called wholesome was when he was two. "Sorry, Fiona. I think I'm pretty set on St. James. But, I promise, I will definitely come and visit you. I've always wanted to see New York."

Imogen cleared her throat officially, breaking into the conversation. "Congratulations Eli Goldsworthy," she said fondly. "I hear that St. James has a very prestigious creative writing program. I think you have made an excellent choice. Well done, my good sir!" Her horn bobbed up and down with her emphatic nods.

"Thanks, Imo," Eli said sincerely, giving her a one-armed hug. He was actually pretty surprised that Clare had even invited Imogen to the shindig. After Fiona's party, things between the two girls were strained at best. They had been forced to tolerate each other whenever the entire gang got together, but the atmosphere between them was always frosty and uncomfortable. It must have taken a lot for Clare to swallow her pride and include Imogen.

"All right, all right, now that the guest of honor is here, can we look at the menu?" Bullfrog grumbled loudly. "I'm so hungry this damn candle is starting to look appetizing."

"Amen, my brother!" Adam cried, putting down his phone, clapping Eli on his shoulder, and pushing him towards the table. "Let's eat!"

Eli approached Clare, standing behind her and reaching around her body to pull out her chair for her. His arm brushed her waist softly, the movement sending an electric current buzzing between them. "Very sneaky, Edwards," he breathed into her ear. "Maybe you should teach a class on sneakiness or something," he teased, watching Clare's face burn red as she remembered her drunken night at the Vitriolic Youth concert.

Smirking smugly, he took a seat next to Clare and perused his menu. Part of him was horribly disappointed not to have the evening alone with her. However, he was touched that she had gone to all the trouble to plan this. And she was right; these were the people who had been there for him – who had supported him – who had kept him going even when he was sure he couldn't go one more step. As he let his gaze travel over the table, Eli couldn't help but feel grateful for all of the truly good people he had in his life. When it came down to it, he was one lucky son of a gun.

Once seated and dinner ordered, the table erupted into conversation. Bread was broken, appetizers were passed, and wine and sparkling water was poured.

"I can't believe you guys won't be here next year," Adam, said looking sadly at Eli, Fiona, and Imogen. "What am I going to do at Degrassi without you? It's going to be so freaking boring."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find someone else to torment with your endless comic book references and lessons in twentieth century cinema, Torres," Eli joked.

"Well, there is always Clare," Adam smirked smugly.

"Watch it, Adam," Clare joked with mock severity. "Without Eli to protect you, you are fair game." She smiled evilly. "In fact, come to think of it, without Eli, I will no longer be outvoted!" she cried in delight, the realization suddenly hitting her. She turned to Adam, her eyes shining wickedly. "You know what that means, Torres? That means that for every horror movie marathon you subject me to, there will also be a Jane Austin movie marathon. Oooh! I can't wait to show you the 5 hour BBC version of _Pride and Prejudice_; Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy is so dreamy!"

"Kill me now," Adam sighed dramatically, shaking his head in mock despair.

"Clare," Fiona broke in, turning to Clare. "I heard through the grapevine that Katie is grooming you to take over as editor of the newspaper next year."

Clare blushed. "Yeah. Who knew that all of the torture and criticism that's been leveled at me this past year was just Katie's idea of a job interview?" She laughed sardonically. "But, I'm excited," she admitted. "I'm thinking of adding a section to the paper that highlights Degrassi's creative writers. There are so many talented writers out there. It would be nice to give them the opportunity to shine." She glanced at Eli shyly.

He gazed back at her, his eyes alight.

"So Iggy," Bullfrog turned to Imogen. After months of butchering poor Imogen's name – calling her Emily Jean and Esther Jane and, for some strange reason, Mahjong - Bullfrog had finally given up and started calling her Iggy in, what he thought, was a fitting homage to Iggy Pop. Imogen didn't seem to mind; and the name surprisingly seemed to suit her. "What's on tap for you? Are you off to college too?"

Imogen beamed at the question. "Actually, I am going to an art school on the West Coast," she replied. "Art is my life," she said passionately, gesturing grandly with her hands. "It is the very air I breathe."

Bullfrog looked at her amused. "Well, Iggy, while you're breathing, be careful not to inhale all those fumes from the paint; that shit will mess you up," Bullfrog chuckled. "But I'm glad you are following your passion. So many people play it safe these days – as if a steady paycheck is worth selling your soul for." He turned to CeCe, raising his eyebrows. "You only live once, you know?"

"Very funny, Mr. Goldsworthy," Imogen laughed. "As if we only live once," she giggled. She placed her hand on Bullfrog's arm, her voice low and conspiratorial. "You know, in my past life, I was an elephant in the royal army of King Sankama. I wore a jeweled headdress and was painted every color of the rainbow. People used to throw flowers in front of my path. It was quite the exciting existence."

Bullfrog looked at her quizzically but was saved from replying by CeCe.

"Before our food gets here, I'd just like to make a little toast," CeCe said, standing and grabbing her wine glass.

Eli groaned and slumped down in his seat. "Please, Mom. Can we not?"

"Oh hush, Eli," CeCe chastised. "My only child just got into college on a scholarship; let me enjoy the moment." She cleared her throat officially, her eyes shining.

"I don't know how many of you know this, but Eli was born eleven weeks early. He weighed only two and a half pounds and was the tiniest, wrinkliest, little thing Bull and I had ever seen." She paused, gazing lovingly at her son who had covered his eyes in embarrassment, his cheeks burning red.

"Because he was so early, his lungs weren't developed enough, and he was too little to eat on his own; so he was put on a ventilator and a feeding tube. I remember going to visit him in the NICU for the first time. He had all sorts of monitors and tubes taped to his little body; it just about broke my heart to look at him. The nurses and doctors were so worried. I could see it in their eyes." CeCe cleared her throat and blinked back a few tears, smiling at her captive audience.

"Well, at first, he developed a pretty bad infection, and he wasn't doing so well. So the doctors and nurses sat Bull and I down, all serious and professional and shit, and told us that Eli was going to have an uphill battle – that maybe we should prepare ourselves for some tough times ahead." She paused, pressing her lips together at the memory.

"But, you know what? All their seriousness and pessimism didn't even worry me - because I knew." She choked up. "I knew he would make it. I looked at his little face, at his tiny hands, and I knew that he was fighter – he had it in him." She stopped and gazed at Eli, her face aglow.

"Because Eli was born so early, we hadn't decided on a name for him yet," she went on. "And because everything was so touch and go, Bullfrog let me have the final say."

"Yeah, if he had been born healthy and on time, there was a pretty good chance he would have been named Axl Rose Goldsworthy," Bullfrog broke in, grinning at Eli and wagging his eyebrows.

CeCe smiled fondly at her husband and continued. "Even though I'm a diehard Guns N' Roses fan and will be until my dying breath, I wasn't about to name my son after a car part; but I did want a powerful name. So I named him Elijah after Elijah the Thunderer, the god of storms. You see, even with all the doctors' dire warnings and the nurses' looks of pity, I was absolutely certain that my little guy would eventually grow into his name. I knew, just by looking at him, that that tiny, weak, little thing would someday cause the thunder to roll. There was no doubt in my mind that he was destined for great things. And you know what?" she continued, her voice thickening with emotion. "When it came down to it, we were all right – the nurses, the doctors, and me. He would definitely have an uphill battle – man, would he have an uphill battle - but he was also destined for great things." She turned to face Eli, her love for him radiating palpably.

"I am so damn proud of you Baby Boy." She raised her glass smiling through her tears. "To Eli, my son, the light of my life - you go and make that thunder roll, baby!"

"To Eli," the table responded, half of them in tears, themselves.

Eli rose to hug his mother, his own eyes shining. And sniffing loudly and clearing his throat, Bullfrog leaned over and engulfed the both of them in a tight embrace, causing the table to break into spontaneous applause.

The tearful celebration was interrupted by the waitress bringing in trays of food – cheesy eggplant parmesan, creamy fettuccini Alfredo, spaghetti bolognaise, seafood ravioli, and a piping hot tureen of fragrant cioppino for the table. The conversation lulled momentarily as the dinner companions dug into the food hungrily.

* * *

><p>…<p>

Later, when he had said goodbye to Fiona and Imogen and profusely thanked Fiona for the beautiful, leather-bound, writing journal and fountain pen, Eli stole a few minutes alone with Clare as he walked her to Adam's car. Adam had graciously given Clare the keys and excused himself to talk to CeCe and Bullfrog in a not so subtle attempt to give Eli and Clare a few minutes alone.

"Thanks for tonight, Edwards," Eli said, a sheepish smile on his face.

She grinned at him. "You're welcome." She knocked against his shoulder affectionately. "You know," she said teasingly, "I didn't get the chance to use my very impressive, extemporaneous speaking abilities tonight, but I just wanted to say that I am really, really proud of you Eli. You, um…" she broke off trying to gather the right words. "Well, you haven't had it easy, but you haven't let that stop you." She reached out and put her hand on Eli's arm. "Seriously, you are one of the most amazing people that I know; and I'm positive that you are going to do incredible things at St. James College. I'm absolutely certain of it."

Eli blushed at her words of praise, stopping in front of Adam's car and turning towards her. Nervously, he met her eye. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Clare smirked and shook her head. "Oh, pish posh, you totally could have. Really, what did I do? I was just a glorified babysitter to help you stay on track. You're the one who did it all."

"Edwards," Eli broke in, "what did I tell you about the importance of taking a compliment graciously? You are selling yourself short again." He grinned at her. "Seriously, woman, just say 'thank you' for once in your damn life."

"Fine," Clare smiled smugly. "Thank you – for once in my damn life."

"You're welcome," Eli replied laughing.

"So," Clare started, when their laughter had died down, "you're fine with Adam and me coming over around 2:00 tomorrow to finish that project on _The Color Purple_?"

"Hell yeah! Can I tell you how excited I am at the prospect of doing homework on a weekend?" Eli teased, wagging his eyebrows. "I've planned my whole day around it."

"I'm sure you have," Clare teased back.

Adam approached the car, whistling loudly to announce his presence. "All right, you two," he called. "Is it safe to approach?"

Clare blushed and rolled her eyes. "Of course, it's safe. We were just talking about getting together tomorrow to work on the English project. 2:00 all right with you?"

"Sounds good," Adam replied, grabbing the keys from Clare. He turned to Eli.

"Eli, my man," he said fondly slapping Eli on the back, "it's been real. I hope you know how proud we are of you."

Eli grinned and slapped Adam's shoulder in return. "Thanks, Torres. It means a lot."

Adam beamed and moved to unlock Clare's door before going around to the driver's side.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Clare said, giving Eli a little half wave.

Eli smiled, cocking his head in contemplation. Reaching out, he awkwardly pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "Thanks, Clare," he whispered, his face close to her ear. "Thanks for tonight. Thanks for everything."

Clare grinned against his shoulder, her hands coming to rest half-way up his back. "You're so welcome."

Adam honked the horn impatiently and rolled down the passenger side window. "Jeez Louise, Clare," he called. "Can we get this show on the road? I really want to get home so I can take off these pants." He sighed regretfully. "I knew I shouldn't have had those extra three helpings of seafood ravioli."

Laughing, Eli and Clare reluctantly pulled away from each other. Eli reached over and opened the car door for Clare, and she slipped into the passenger seat.

"See you guys tomorrow," Eli called, closing the car door and smiling as his two best friends drove off into the darkness of the Toronto night.

When their tail lights were no longer in view, Eli turned and started walking back to his parents' car, a satisfied smirk on his face. Despite the fact that his romantic dinner date with Clare had been a total bust; it had been a pretty damn good night just the same.

* * *

><p>…..<p>

Clare descended the steps of the city bus and hoisted her book bag up over her shoulder in preparation for her walk to Eli's house. She sighed contently, as she turned her face toward the bright sunshine, reveling in the warmth of its rays after a cold and dreary winter.

It was already spring - just a few months left of the school year. It seemed weird to think that, this time next year, she would almost be finished with high school – she would almost be finished with Degrassi for good. And what was even weirder to think about was that Eli was almost finished. Come August, he would be living in a different city and going to a different school. Come August, he would be living a completely different life – a life that wouldn't include her.

How strange it was going to be not to have English with him - not to have their study dates to look forward to after a crazy day of classes and yearbook and journalism. Who was going to discuss literature with her or brain storm essay topics? Who was she going to bounce new ideas off of for articles and short stories? Who would edit her writing for her or be there to calm her down if she ever received a "B" on an assignment? It just wasn't going to be the same without him.

Of course, deep down, she was incredibly proud of him. He had done it. He had worked hard and completely caught up. He had aced his college tests and had written amazing application essays. In fact, she wasn't at all surprised that he had been admitted into all of the schools to which he had applied. And now that he had sent in his official letter of acceptance to St. James, it was final. He would be leaving in just a few, short months. He would be leaving her behind to go start his future. It was bittersweet, really. She was so happy for him, and, yet, she wasn't quite ready to let him go.

Clare swallowed, thinking of Eli living in a different city. It seemed wrong to think about him living life without her. But he would. He would have different classes and different activities and different friends. He would live his life, and she would live hers. It was the way things were supposed to be.

But what was she going to do without him?

God, she was going to miss him! It wasn't fair. They had just found each other again – just gotten to a good place, and now he was going to have to leave her. Her heart ached painfully at the thought.

Before she could get too wrapped up in her pessimistic thoughts, her phone buzzed annoyingly in her pocket. Taking it out, she clicked on the incoming text from Adam.

**Adam: Mom is late with the car. I'll be there as soon as I can. Go ahead and start without me. ; )**

Clare smiled, pausing in front of Eli's house. She had already started the project on her own. She would have Eli help expand it, and Adam could add the finishing touches when he showed. They made a great team, the three of them. But what was going to happen next school year when one of the team members left to play in the big leagues? Would the other two teammates be able to successfully regroup?

Sighing despondently, Clare put her phone back in her pocket and walked up the steps to Eli's house. She shook her head to clear away the dreary thoughts and resolutely knocked on the door.

CeCe answered almost immediately.

"Clare, honey," she cried, pulling Clare into a warm embrace. "Come on in."

Clare stepped into the foyer and glanced at the living room. Piles of records were strewn all over the floor, completely covering the living room rug. Led Zeppelin blared from the old stereo, Robert Plant's distinctive shriek and growl shaking from the speakers.

"I'm organizing," CeCe said her eyes alight. "I'm sorting everything by category and then alphabetizing each category. Only," CeCe stopped, her expression sheepish, "I keep getting distracted. I keep finding totally kickass albums I haven't listened to in years."

"How long have you been at it?" Clare inquired grinning.

"Since nine this morning," CeCe admitted self-consciously, surveying all of the sloppy piles.

"And how far have you gotten?"

"Well, I'm still sorting by category," CeCe said shamefacedly. "I think the glam rock section is almost ready to be alphabetized," she added, pausing to grab a garishly colored album by Poison. "Oh, well, maybe not quite ready," she admitted embarrassed.

"Well, if you still need help after I finish working on this English project with Eli and Adam, I'll be glad to give you a hand," Clare offered. "I do have to warn you though, I am completely inept musically. You are definitely going to have to tell me which records go into which category. But I'm dynamite at alphabetizing and at keeping people on task."

"Thanks, honey," CeCe said gratefully, throwing a gaudily frightening Twisted Sister LP into the glam rock pile. "I just might take you up on your offer."

She gestured towards the stairs. "I think Eli is in his room taking a nap," she said. "He's still struggling with insomnia pretty regularly." CeCe looked at Clare questioningly. "Do you want me to go get him for you?"

Ever since the break-up, Clare had given Eli's room a wide berth, avoiding it like the plague. For their tutoring dates or even when they were just hanging out at his house, CeCe or Bullfrog would go and get Eli from his room, while Clare stayed safely downstairs. Although Clare was now comfortable and secure in her friendship with Eli, his room still frightened the heck out of her.

In the wake of the accident, Clare's anxious mind had built the room up to be the tangible symbol of Eli's illness and the destruction of their relationship; for it was in that room that his illness first became concrete, spilling out noxiously in the muddled detritus that had lined his walls and littered his floors. In all honestly, even before the accident, the room had suffocated Clare – overwhelmed her – made her doubt that she and Eli could ever have a future together. So much of the room had been Julia. Julia had lived there, had loved there, and, for all intents and purposes, had been enshrined there - - her memory captured forever in the trash and discarded objects that Eli had so lovingly collected. And, to Clare, the piles of remembrances created a frightening and towering shrine which threatened to topple at any moment and silently smother her. In fact, the room had been so full of Julia that, even in the happy days before the crash, Clare had never felt that the room held any space for her. Every time she entered it, it had physically pushed against her, shoving her out - its memories creating a barrier which she could not breach. She had never belonged in that room – never felt comfortable there – never felt like she could breathe; and thus had tried to avoid it at all costs.

But, maybe now it was time to face this specter of her past. Maybe now it was time to lay those ghosts to rest once and for all.

She felt herself shaking her head in response to CeCe's question. "No," she said nervously. "It's OK. You keep working on your records. I'll go up and get Eli."

CeCe looked at her searchingly but nodded her head, returning her attention to the Derek and the Dominos album she had just unearthed.

Inhaling determinedly, Clare turned and headed up the staircase. She walked softly down the carpeted hall and stopped in front of Eli's door, noticing that the padlock was gone. She bit her lip nervously and rapped on the door.

There was no response.

She knocked again, praying that, this time, Eli would hear her and answer – but no such luck.

"OK, Clare," she mentally bolstered herself. "You can do this. It's just a room. It's just a room. There's nothing to be scared of." She shook her head at her own ridiculousness. She was being silly. Besides, hadn't Eli mentioned that he had gone on a cleaning spree after the accident? Yet, even that somewhat comforting thought wasn't enough to stop the tightness in Clare's chest and the anxious hammering of her heart. No, even if the room were completely clean, it was still a portal to the past – a past that Clare did not ever want to revisit. However, the unfortunate truth was that, as much as she didn't want to revisit it, she had to face it if she ever wanted to move forward. It was time.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out tentatively and grabbed the door handle, feeling the slippery coldness of the knob as she turned it. The door swung open without resistance.

Quietly, Clare entered the room holding her breath. She bowed her head, waiting to feel the push of rejection and exclusion - waiting to be enveloped in the fog of illness and instability. However, this time, as she entered the quiet sanctuary, she felt a palpable shift in atmosphere. She inhaled sharply in disbelief.

The room was surprisingly empty – all trappings of Eli's hoarding having long been cleared away. Gone were the piles of moldy newspapers; the twisted, plastic shopping bags; the popcorn containers; the old magazines; the greasy pizza boxes; and the too-small clothes. Gone were the soaring towers of jumbled memories and the suffocating, choking smell of grief and illness. It now looked like the room of any teenage boy – a bit messy and disorganized but nothing too out of the ordinary.

In wonder, Clare walked around the perimeter of the room, careful to keep her footfall soft so as not to wake the sleeping boy. Was this really the same room? She reached out and trailed her fingertips over Eli's bookshelf, assuring herself of its reality. She traced over his Palahniuk collection and his hardback copies of the works of Kafka and Gogol. Slowly, she dragged her hand away from the bookshelf and let her fingers briefly glance over the worn band posters adorning Eli's walls – walls that she could now see in their entirety. Walking forward, she softly stroked the bizarre Egyptian cat statue that held guard over Eli's desk, before letting her fingers brush over the framed photographs haphazardly dotting his desktop.

Carefully, she picked up the first photograph, a picture of Julia and Eli together – both of them shrouded in black with serious expressions on their faces. They were trying so hard to be severe and yet just succeeded in looking like young kids trying to play grown-up. Her fingertip traced over Julia's face, so innocent and full of promise. And yet, just a few months after this picture had been snapped, all that promise had been lost. It was so unfair. Clare closed her eyes briefly at the tragedy of Julia's story – for once letting herself truly feel the sadness without the anxiety and guilt that usually went along with any thought of Julia. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, Clare carefully replaced the photograph and picked up the next one.

This one was a candid shot of Eli and Adam, leaning against Eli's hearse and talking expressively. Clare inhaled sharply as her eyes took in the outline of Morty – his gleaming, black exterior shining in the sun. She felt her pulse increase and anxiously flashed back to that horrible night of the accident.

No, she was not going to go there. They had moved on from that. This room was the tangible evidence of that fact. She shook her head, clearing it of her anxious thoughts and instead concentrated on the faces of the two boys in the picture – her two best friends. Smiling, she replaced the picture and picked up the third framed photograph.

Her own face smiled back at her from behind the frame's glass. The photo had been taken during one of their excursions to the park back in happier times. Her grin was genuine, the happiness reflecting in her eyes as she looked lovingly at the photographer. She remembered that day – so full of sunshine and laughter. They had bought pizza by the slice from a suspicious looking food truck and had an impromptu picnic on the grass, using Eli's jacket and her sweater as a picnic blanket. The pizza had been delicious, the conversation effortless, and Eli's kiss had tasted spicy and sharp.

Remembering the kiss in vivid detail, Clare blushed and replaced the picture, finally turning her attention to the sleeping boy.

Eli was sprawled out on his bed on top of the covers, his body slack and relaxed. He was breathing softly, his lips barely parted, his dark hair tangled across his face. Cautiously, Clare approached his bed and sank down on the corner of his mattress. Quietly she watched him for a few moments before letting her eyes once more travel around the room.

Hesitatingly, she breathed in the changed atmosphere. No longer did the room repel her or suffocate her. No longer did she feel like an intruder. In fact, the atmosphere was now quietly inviting – reflecting the boy who occupied it and not his mental illness and tragic past. Clare sighed softly and smiled down at Eli. Things had changed. She could feel it. Things had loosened and relaxed. She didn't feel any of the anxious panic or the overwhelming pressure that she had felt in days past. In fact, she felt easy, content – almost light. It felt good; it felt right. She was supposed to be here. She was supposed to be with him. She was supposed to be with Eli.

Shocked, she mulled over this sudden realization in her mind, marveling at the fact that the thought of being with Eli – the thought of loving him again – was no longer terrifying. She had altered – just like the room had altered. She had shifted and changed.

Eli let out a soft snore, and, smiling, Clare reached out and carefully brushed the shaggy bangs out of his eyes. He moved slightly at the touch but continued sleeping. He looked so young, so fragile - his eyelashes a dark shadow against the whiteness of his skin. This was right.

Once she started, Clare couldn't stop herself from touching him – her fingertips trying to refamiliarize herself with his skin, his form. Cautiously she trailed a hand down Eli's shoulder, running it delicately down his arm - tracing his bicep, the hollow at his elbow and the narrowness of his wrist, before ghosting her fingers across his palm and lightly brushing his curled fingers, rubbing over his slick, black nails.

Eli mumbled something in his sleep, turning slightly away from her in his attempt to find a more comfortable position.

Compelled by a powerful force, Clare slowly let her hand travel up the smooth expanse of Eli's back, being careful to keep her touch feather light. She traced his spine through his t-shirt and ran her hand up and over the sharpness of his shoulder blades. She moved her fingers up the column of his neck, softly tangling them in his hair. She felt calm. She felt peaceful. This was good. This was right. She could fight against it all she wanted, but it wouldn't change anything.

Suddenly, everything was clear to her – everything standing out in sharp precision. This was how it was supposed to be. Even the room was certain of it.

Still asleep, Eli turned his head into her hand, unconsciously leaning into her touch. His mouth fell slightly open, his lips moving faintly with each inhale. God, he was beautiful. For the first time in a very long time Clare allowed herself to drink him in – allowed herself to feel what she had been trying so hard to repress for so long.

Once more, she breathed in the heady atmosphere of the room and boldly drew her fingertips across his cheekbone and down around his jawline to his mouth. With one finger, she softly brushed against his bottom lip remembering what it had felt like to press her own mouth against it - remembering its fullness, its smooth texture.

Eli sighed quietly and slowly opened his eyes, his pupils dilated and fuzzy.

"Clare?" he rasped when his eyes had finally focused.

Clare smiled a soft half-smile. "Hey," she said quietly, her gaze intense.

Eli blinked and raised himself up on his elbows clearly confused.

"What are…" he tried but trailed off when Clare leaned forward and softly kissed his cheek, her lips tracing over his cheekbone and drawing the blood into his face where it pooled in a blush.

Eli swallowed, rendered speechless.

Slowly, Clare dragged her lips over the bridge of his nose and to his other cheek, kissing the sharp plane of his cheekbone before dipping down to softly kiss the corner of his mouth.

Eli's breath hitched in response, and he closed his eyes trying desperately not to lose it. He didn't dare move. He didn't want to break the spell or, if this were a dream, wake himself up.

Clare pulled back to smile at him, before leaning in again and gently kissing his mouth, carefully fitting her soft lips between his.

His mind went blank, his heart rate increasing. All he could feel was the gentle touch of her lips on his mouth, the faint brush of her curls on his cheek.

Eli's arms started shaking, and, overwhelmed, he fell back down on to his pillow, unintentionally breaking the kiss. "Clare," he breathed in awe.

She reached over to brush his hair back from his forehead. "Eli," she replied quietly, before leaning over to kiss him again.

This time he allowed himself to kiss her back – tentatively moving his lips against hers. If this were a dream, he fucking never wanted to wake up. He dared to reach his hand into her hair, tangling his fingers in her curls and wrapping them around the back of her head, gently pulling her into him. A liquid warmth cascaded over him in waves, spilling up his chest and over his neck and face. He moved his head slightly, pulling her closer, breathing in the soft, tropical scent of her shampoo. Through a fog, he felt the slick wetness of her tongue trace across his bottom lip and couldn't help himself from jolting back in surprise. God! Was this for real?

"Clare," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "What are you doing?"

Clare pulled back smirking, her eyebrows raised. "Isn't it obvious? Have I been too subtle?" she teased, leaning back in for another kiss. But Eli grabbed her upper arms and pushed her back, effectively raising himself into an upright position.

"No, I'm serious, Clare," he said, his voice hoarse and pleading. "What's going on? I thought we were taking some time - working on being friends. What does… what does this all mean?"

Clare cocked her head, looking at him intently. "It means that, although I appreciate all the time you have given me and all of your patience and self-control, I don't need any of it anymore." She reached out to touch his cheek. "I don't need any more time, Eli; I just … well, I guess … I just need you."

Eli swallowed nervously, his breath uneven. "Does this mean…" he broke off, his voice cracking. "Does this mean you want to try again?" He couldn't keep the blatant hope out of his voice.

Clare smiled and leaned in to place a soft kiss on his temple, skimming her lips across his forehead as she drew back. "Yes," she said quietly.

"But why now?" Eli dared to ask, flustered but resolute. "What changed?"

Clare looked at him thoughtfully, thinking back over the past school year. Images flashed across her mind - holding him during his panic attack, visiting him in the hospital, tutoring him, fighting with him, laughing with him, crying with him. She looked around the room again, her eyes lingering on the posters and books and photographs, before coming to rest on the anxious boy who sat waiting for an answer. She shook her head, smiling. "Everything," she replied, hoping that her tone conveyed the message that her words could not. "Everything changed, Eli. We're not the same people we used to be. You're not the angry, desperate, volatile boy, and I'm not the scared, sheltered, little girl. Everything has changed. It's just taken me awhile to realize it."

"But, I'm still struggling with the whole bipolar thing," Eli admitted disparagingly. "I can still be angry. I can still be volatile. You've seen it." He didn't know why he was trying so hard to talk Clare out of this. He had been dreaming of this moment ever since their break-up and here he was trying to convince her to take more time. He was just so desperately afraid of losing her again – desperately afraid of scaring her off. He didn't want to push her too soon and risk losing everything.

"I know, Eli," Clare replied. "I know it's not going to be easy. Believe me, I have my eyes wide open this time. But …" she trailed off, searching for the right words. "It's like … well, I guess it's like what your mom said last night. It's going to be an uphill battle, but I think, if we stick it out, we are destined for great things."

Eli ran a hand through his messy hair. God, was this really happening? He looked at Clare searchingly.

"Look, Eli, I don't pretend to know all the answers," Clare continued entreatingly. "But, for the first time in my life, I'm fine with not knowing them." She reached out, grabbing Eli's arm and running her fingertips down to his hand, lacing her own fingers through his. "What I do know is that I love you, Eli. I trust you. You've come so far this past year. And I think it's about time that I stop denying my feelings – stop playing it safe – and take a chance on us again. That is …" her voice trailed off uncertainly. "I mean, if you are ready." She smiled at him nervously. "I don't want to push you or pressure you or anything."

"God, of course I'm ready," Eli breathed out heatedly. "The whole 'time thing' was just for your benefit. I didn't want to scare you off again."

"Very tricky, Goldsworthy," she smiled, leaning forward and capturing his lips once again. In a daze, Eli kissed back, opening his mouth and allowing her to deepen the kiss, feeling the flush of heat boil in the pit of his stomach, bubbling over and spilling into the cavity of his chest.

She broke away from his mouth and leaned in to kiss behind his ear, sucking gently on the soft skin before scattering breathy kisses down his neck.

He wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to turn his mind off and just give in to his body's impulses. But a nagging doubt in the back of his mind just wouldn't let him.

Worriedly, he caught her head in his hands, pulling her face back up to his level to lock eyes with her.

"What about Jake?" he asked his voice wary.

"What about him?" Clare replied, her eyes clear and her tone firm.

"Are you … are you over him?"

Clare smiled and bit her lip. She reached up and tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of Eli's neck, pulling his face closer to hers. "You tell me," she murmured, trying to lean in for another kiss.

But Eli tightened his grip and stopped her. "You're sure?" Eli asked cautiously. "You're really sure you want to do this again? Knowing what you know – knowing how difficult it's going to be - you still want a relationship with me?"

Clare smiled at him, her eyes full of love. "Oh yeah," she breathed, turning her face to kiss his palm.

In the end, it was her tone that convinced him – her tone and the fact that she had answered so emphatically - so out of character. He smiled at her impassioned voice. She was sure. She wanted this. She wanted him. Suddenly he couldn't control his happiness, his doubt and insecurity receding into nothingness. He smirked and raised his eyebrows cheekily. "Wow, not only a 'yeah,' but an 'oh yeah,'" he teased. "You must really be sure, Edwards."

Clare looked at him, a challenge in her eyes. "Well, I could make it a 'yeah' instead - if the 'oh yeah' makes you uncomfortable," she said mockingly, curling her lips into a matching smirk.

"No, no," Eli interjected, his breathing ragged as the reality of what was happening hit him. "In fact, I see your 'oh yeah' and raise you a 'damn straight.'" He grinned at her.

Clare looked at him, her eyes shining. "Well then, I see your 'damn straight' and raise you a 'would you just freaking shut up and kiss me.'"

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a winner," Eli breathed, pulling her face to him and kissing her passionately.

They fell back onto his bed, roughly pushing into each other in their desperation; each one trying to prove their commitment, their dedication, their absolute certainty with their mouths, their tongues, their hands.

Eli rolled her over, burying his face in her neck – grabbing on to her hip with frantic fingers. This was happening. This was really happening. He groaned hoarsely, trying to catch his breath.

Clare smiled and ran her hands up his back, letting her fingertips trace across every vertebrae. This was him. This was really him. This was the boy she loved. She was sure of it. She opened her mouth to tell him that she loved him – that she had never really stopped loving him, but the words died on her lips when he pushed his mouth onto hers heatedly. She lost all ability to speak as his tongue slipped into her mouth demanding and desperate. He pressed his body into her, trying to breach any millimeter of space between them, kissing her over and over until she thought she would pass out from lack of oxygen. Her body was tingling, every nerve ending pulsing. She felt the flush slide up from the tips of her toes – washing over her body and reaching up to her scalp. She had never felt so out of control in her life; and the feeling was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Try as he might, Eli couldn't control his hands. They traveled up from her hips to her waist, fumbling in their desperation - grasping her sides, pushing and pulling at her soft skin, gripping on to her for dear life. His fingers played over her ribcage, coming to rest briefly on her breastbone – trying to touch every inch of her – to familiarize himself with her form again - to assure himself of her reality.

Clare exhaled shakily, arching her body and dragging him down further into her - grasping and reaching for him, as if her very life depended on their proximity.

A sharp knock sounded on the door, and before they could even register the interruption, the door was pushed open.

"Sorry I'm so la … holy shit!" Adam stopped mid-stride, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

Clare shrieked and pushed back on Eli's shoulders, scrambling to sit up. Her cheeks were burning, her hair was a tangled mess, her mouth was red and swollen, and Eli thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"Oh God," she cried humiliated. "I'm so sorry, Adam. I forgot that you were coming. We were … we were just … um …" she trailed off uncomfortably.

Adam turned his wide-eyed gaze to Eli. "Goldsworthy?" he rasped out, his voice belying his shock.

Eli sat up, a satisfied smirk on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down. "Hey, Torres. What's up?" he said, doing his best to sound bored and blasé.

Clare reached over and lightly hit Eli's shoulder. "Adam," she tried again, her voice hesitant. "Eli and I … well, as you probably guessed, Eli and I have decided to give it another go," she admitted, smiling as Eli reached out to take her hand. "I hope that this won't make things too uncomfortable for you," she continued, her voice sincere. "I know you hate being a third wheel and everything. And I promise we will keep the PDA to a minimum …"

"Hey," Eli broke in grinning, bringing her hand up to his lips. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Edwards."

Clare shushed him and continued, looking at Adam entreatingly. "I know you're worried, Adam, and I don't blame you for being worried; but we've talked about this. We've hashed everything out – everything that's happened in the past. I promise you, we know what we're getting into this time. We know that it's going to be difficult. We're not jumping into anything blindly." She broke off. "But, I think, we're just … I don't know … stronger now – or maybe we're just more secure in ourselves – in what we want and what we need." She shook her head in frustration. "I'm not explaining this well," she admitted exasperated, "but, believe me, we are being realistic about any future together." She looked over at Eli, her eyes soft. "We know it's going to be tough, but, I think, after everything we've gone through, we've discovered that, when it really comes down to it, the two of us are pretty darn tough ourselves." She turned back to Adam, her voice hopeful. "I just hope you will support us, Adam. It would … it would just be really great to have your blessing."

Adam looked from Clare to Eli and back to Clare again, his eyes wary. He was silent for a few uncomfortable minutes before shaking his head in mock defeat. "Jeez, Clare – my blessing?" he finally huffed out annoyed. "I know I haven't had a date in freaking forever, but I haven't taken a vow of chastity or joined the priesthood yet." He looked at them thoughtfully.

"So you guys are bound and determined to go down this road again, huh?" he questioned, his voice cautious.

Clare nodded uncomfortably and Eli smiled a satisfied smile.

Adam sighed defeatedly. "All right, fine," he said begrudgingly. He shook his head in exasperation. "I'm still not one hundred percent sure about this whole thing, but who am I to stand in the way of young love?" He smirked sarcastically. "Besides, knowing Eli, if I did try to stand in the way, I just might get run over or lit on fire or something."

"Not funny, Torres," Eli grinned.

"Thanks, Adam," Clare said sincerely. "It really means a lot. I'm sorry if this whole thing comes as a surprise."

"Yeah! It's such a big, freaking surprise," Adam deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "You guys love each other – stop the presses." He grinned at the two of them, "Seriously, tell me something that I don't know."

He walked forward awkwardly, looking for a place to sit, not wanting to get in the way of the new couple. But before he could settle himself on Eli's desk chair, Clare reached up and pulled Adam down on the bed with them.

"Great," Adam joked, stretching his body in between Eli and Clare, happy to be included. "Back to my favorite role as third wheel."

"Yeah, but just look at it this way, Torres," Eli said, smiling fondly at him. "Some things are better with three wheels –like a tricycle - like the three of us. In fact, for all intents and purposes, we are like the ultimate tricycle."

Adam looked at Eli amused, "We're a tricycle? Seriously, Goldsworthy?" he questioned sarcastically. He turned jokingly to Clare.

"Are you totally sure about this, Clare?" he teased. "You could do so much better. I mean…"

But his words were cut short when he was hit in the face with Eli's pillow.


	16. Invincible

**After the Storm **

**Chapter 16**

**Invincible**

**Hey all you kids out there in Degrassi Land, the time has come for me to say goodbye. As your faithful DJ (shout out to Bullfrog – hollah!), these past few months I have devotedly spun my carefully selected tunes creating, what I like to consider, a pretty kickass soundtrack for Eli and Clare's dramatic and complicated romance. However, it is now time for me to play my last song and quietly ride off into the sunset.**

**For this final chapter, I wanted to pick a song that was hopeful but that also acknowledged the very realistic difficulties that Clare and Eli will face together – because, gentle readers, there will always be struggles as long as those two are a couple. I think "Invincible" by Muse is the perfect fit. If you haven't listened to the song, please, please listen to it. It is incredible – not to mention, Matt Bellamy's guitar solo is truly mind-blowing.**

**Thanks so much for sticking with me during this fiction. I appreciate all of the alerts, favorites, music recommendations, reviews, and sweet messages telling me how much my little story has meant to you. You've helped me to get through what seemed like a freaking endless hiatus. Jolly Ranchers and free hugs all around! **

**Hopefully, the rest of Season 11 will not disappoint (although I am still trying to purge my brain of the horrifying image of Eli dancing like some deranged aerobics instructor tweaked out on meth to the poppy, saccharine beats of "I've Got the Music in Me." Seriously? Eli? The Goth kid? Doctor Doom? The guy who called dances banal and made fun of Clare for liking mainstream music? Damn, and people accuse Clare of acting out of character!). ; )**

**I do not own **_**Degrassi **_**or any of its characters. I also do not own **_**The Brady Bunch**_**, **_**Peter Pan**_**, John Lennon, The Beatles, or Guns N' Roses. Seriously, folks, check out all the music I mention. It's gold, I tell you – solid gold. **

**Also, if you can, please leave me a review. I've gotten to know a few of you wonderful readers through your reviews and messages and would love to know who else is reading. I see by my traffic stat thingy (which is now working – hallelujah!) that there are quite a few international readers. Thanks so much for taking the time to follow this story. I'd love to hear what you think. In fact, I'd love to hear what all of my readers think, especially if you have been reading this story since its inception and have yet to say hello. I promise, I don't bite – so leave me a short message or review. It is the final chapter, after all (sniff, sniff). : ) **

**Finally, let me leave with you these words of wisdom penned by Mumford and Sons from their beautiful song, **_**After the Storm**_**:**

_**And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears**_

_**And love will not break your heart but dismiss your fears **_

_**Get over your hill and see what you find there**_

_**With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair**_

**...**

**Until next time, my fellow Degrassians; this is Jacksvoiceofreason signing off. **

* * *

><p>…<p>

Clare ran her hand over the thick, clear tape, smoothing away the air bubbles and officially sealing the battered, cardboard box. Taking up the black Sharpie, its tip blunt and fuzzy from Eli's impromptu manicures, she wrote 'Winter Clothes' in her loopy, sprawling script – pausing to draw a small black heart and scribble a messy 'I love you' under the label. Maybe, in the icy darkness of winter when Eli unpacked this box, he would find her small message and think of her.

He was leaving tomorrow.

Somehow summer had faded away before they had even had a chance to truly acknowledge it. Of course, that was not to say that they hadn't enjoyed it. It had been filled with hot, lazy days of slow living – each week marked by a trip to the lake, their pale, winter skins pinking in the sunshine; or a summer barbeque tasting of sweet lemonade and smelling of Coppertone; or a concert in the park, the music swirling around them as they stretched out on a blanket looking up at the stars; or a movie marathon in Adam's cool basement, their fingers and mouths greasy from the buttery popcorn they shared. No, they had definitely enjoyed it. In fact, they had used the summer as a backdrop to their fragile, newborn relationship. It had been a summer of shy smiles and knowing glances – of sweet, slow kisses and desperate embraces. It had been a summer of whispered endearments and soft reassurances – a summer of forgiveness - a summer of trust.

And now it was over.

Clare closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying not to dwell on the fact that, this time tomorrow, Eli would be on his way to his new life, and she would be alone. She almost couldn't wrap her mind around it – around the thought that he would no longer be sleeping in this room – in this bed. He would no longer be calling her to come and meet him for an impromptu dinner at The Dot – no longer be there to rub her shoulders and listen to her vent about the freakish amount of work it took to produce an issue of the newspaper – no longer be there to share a whispered conversation on those long, still nights when she just couldn't sleep. Day to day life was going to be so strange without him – so starkly empty.

"Daydreaming about me, Edwards?" Eli teased walking into his bedroom with another load of empty boxes. He smiled his standard smirk, but Clare could tell by the too-open gaze of his eyes that it was a front. He was scared out of his skull – nervous about leaving – almost sick with anxiety. His bravado was just for her benefit. He was trying to be strong for her.

She grinned up at him softly. "Well, I have to perfect those daydreams, you know," she teased, wagging her eyebrows at him cheekily and playing along. "Come tomorrow, they will have to stand in for the real thing."

Eli smiled a genuine smile. Dropping the boxes unceremoniously, he strode towards her, pulling her up to a standing position and wrapping his arms around her waist. "Yes, but today you do have the real thing," he breathed into her ear, nuzzling his face in her hair. "You might as well take advantage of it."

"Why Mr. Goldsworthy," Clare teased putting on an exaggerated southern accent. "Take advantage of little, ole' you? Why, whatever would your mother think?"

"That it was about damn time," Eli joked, pulling her close and kissing her heatedly.

Clare kissed him back, parting her lips and getting lost in the soft, pressing, heat of his mouth. God she was going to miss this – was going to miss him. How was she ever going to get through weeks and weeks without being able to touch him?

"Ahem," a voice cried from the doorway. "Dude, your mom said you might need help packing up your room, but it looks to me that you've got the situation um … under control." Adam shook his head, rolling his eyes. He was used to it now – used to being the friend of a couple again – used to the inappropriate looks that they gave each other behind his back and the way they stayed in constant, close proximity, orbiting around each other, oblivious to all outside forces. To their credit, they did try to keep things toned down when he was around – or, at least, Clare tried. Despite his best effort, Eli was like a kid in a candy shop. After almost a year of not being able to touch Clare, he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. But Adam understood; he was a guy after all. And he really couldn't begrudge Eli, especially on a day like today.

Clare reluctantly pulled back from Eli, her cheeks red. "Sorry, Adam," she apologized. "I had no idea you were here."

Eli smiled at Adam but didn't drop his hands from Clare's hips. Instead, he pulled her over to stand in front of him, leaning his chin on her head. "I thought you had to go visit your grandma today, man," he said to Adam, absentmindedly palming Clare's hipbones - his fingers dipping into the front pockets of her jeans.

"Yeah, well, she wasn't feeling too good today, so she canceled," Adam explained. He smiled a sheepish smile, suddenly wondering if he were intruding - if he should have let them have the day to themselves. "I decided to come and lend a hand instead."

Clare smiled at Adam, putting her hands over Eli's to still them. She was very aware of how uncomfortable it must be for Adam to watch them so wrapped up in each other. "That's awesome, Adam. We could definitely use the help. And, when everything is all packed up, we are going to get pizza and celebrate Eli's last night here; so it's a very good thing that you came over. It just wouldn't be the same without you." Her voice was strong and clear, but Adam could tell how hard she was working to keep it bright. It must be so difficult for the two of them. They had only just found each other again and now they had to break apart.

"Sounds good," Adam said, giving Clare an encouraging smile. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the messy room - at the empty boxes and piles of clothes and books - at the rolled up posters waiting on the bed and the bright, bare spaces on Eli's walls where the posters had once resided. He sighed, thinking about all the time he had spent in this room playing video games and reading comics, talking about girls and bullies and fears of the future. What the hell was he going to do when Eli was gone? Eli was the first guy, besides Drew, who had accepted Adam without judging him. He was the first guy to ever give Adam a chance, no questions asked. He was Adam's first, true friend – his first, true friend as Adam. Closing his eyes, Adam swallowed the lump in his throat. Shit, he was going to miss the little fucker!

Bringing himself back into the moment, Adam looked at his two best friends – noticing the quiet desperation behind their smiles. Inhaling determinedly, he shook his head and plastered a cheery grin onto his face. "Where should I start?"

* * *

><p>…<p>

When everything was boxed up and loaded into the van that Bullfrog had borrowed from the station, the three friends sprawled out on the front steps of Eli's house.

The weather had turned. The cloying heat of the late August afternoon had thickened as the storm clouds rolled in. The dark skies pressed down, and the atmosphere became strangely suffocating. There was an anxiety about the sky, reflecting the emotions of the three friends. It was as if the day were holding its breath - waiting in nervous anticipation for something.

"It's just not going to be the same without you, man," Adam said finally, breaking the loaded silence with his characteristic honesty. "I mean I'm sure you'll be loving the college life and everything, but things at Degrassi will just be kind of sad."

"Hey now," Eli tried to comfort, his voice overly cheerful to compensate for the tense and anxious atmosphere. "With you and Dave running the airwaves and Clare at the helm of the student paper, I bet this year is going to go down as one of the most epic years in Degrassi history."

Adam smiled at Eli's valiant effort and nodded his head. "True," he conceded. "I hadn't really considered that." He grinned, trying to shake off the heavy mood. "On second thought, we won't miss you at all, Goldsworthy." He reached out and pushed Eli's head fondly.

Eli pushed back, knocking Adam sideways on the steps.

"Yes, we will," Clare said softly, her gaze bright and glassy. She shook her head fondly at the boys.

"So when do you leave tomorrow?" Adam asked, righting himself and sweeping the sweaty bangs out of his eyes.

"Like 6:00," Eli replied grimacing. "It's a fairly long drive, and I have to be there for res check-in." He blew out a nervous breath and bit his lip.

"Well, I love you like a brother, man. But I draw the line at getting up before 6:00 in the summer," Adam said with a crooked smile.

"No worries," Eli joked. "You can just kiss me goodbye tonight."

"In your dreams, Goldsworthy," Adam smirked sarcastically, reaching out to again shove Eli's head.

"Whoa," Clare broke-in teasingly. "Now I'm starting to feel like the third wheel here. Do you two need a moment alone or something?" She pushed herself up and started to rise from the steps.

Before she could get far, Eli tackled her, pulling her back against him roughly, and Adam knocked against her shoulder fondly.

"Shut up, Edwards," Adam muttered smiling. "As totally dreamy as Goth Boy is; he's not really my type."

* * *

><p>…<p>

By the time Cece pulled up with the pizza and ice cream, the sky had begun to crack around the edges and a few intrepid rain drops had begun to fall. A storm was definitely brewing.

Yet, despite the looming sadness, the little group managed to keep dinner light and celebratory. Occasionally, Bullfrog would reach over and tousle Eli's hair fondly or CeCe would look at her son and blink back a few tears. However, on the whole, the atmosphere was one of happiness and excitement.

After the pizza was consumed, they took their ice cream sundaes into the living room for a special "bon voyage" presentation from Bullfrog.

Bullfrog had been teasing the event all day, hinting that he had something special in store for everyone come sun down. Eli and CeCe, used to Bullfrog's hyperbolic promises, smiled indulgently at Bullfrog's boasts, their expectations realistic. However, Adam and Clare settled themselves on the couch and excitedly turned their faces towards Bullfrog in anticipation.

Bullfrog walked towards the TV, turned to his captive audience, and cleared his throat officially.

"Ahem. As I'm sure you all know, tomorrow is a monumental day for the Goldsworthy clan," Bullfrog started, grinning when Eli groaned and slumped down in his seat. "Tomorrow we're getting rid of the kid, and, after eighteen years of torture, CeCe and I will finally have the house to ourselves again."

Adam and Clare laughed, and CeCe shook her head fondly at her husband.

"No, seriously," Bullfrog continued. "I'm not good with words and emotional speeches and all that shit like CeCe is; but, that doesn't mean I'm not … really proud." He paused and nodded at Eli, his eyes shining. "So I figured I'd stick to what I am good at." He grinned a crooked grin and gestured to the TV `a la Vanna White. "Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I present to you the first, official Bullfrog Goldsworthy Production."

He pressed the power button on the remote, and the first few chords of a stripped down version of John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy" started. Soon Bullfrog's raspy voice joined the chords, singing along to the haunting guitar melody. CeCe's face popped up on screen, her short hair bleached platinum blond, her face full and smiling. She gave a small wave, and the camera panned down to her pregnant belly. From the couch, Clare and CeCe squealed delightedly.

Eli rolled his eyes and shook his head but couldn't stop a small smile from unfolding.

The scene shifted to a shot of a young Bullfrog in mint green scrubs and a mask holding a tiny infant who was wrapped up in tubes and wires. Although his face was hidden behind the sterile cloth, it was obvious from Bullfrog's eyes that he was beaming with pride as he held his newborn son.

The next shot was bringing Eli home, balloons and streamers decorating the front room of some small, cramped apartment. A hand-made "Welcome Home Elijah" banner hung across the mantle, as friends and family mingled together and dotingly admired the tiny, new arrival.

The music increased and swelled, and the images kept shifting – Eli, as a toddler, taking his first, tentative steps; Eli pushing his hands into his first birthday cake and then gleefully rubbing the chocolate mess in his hair; Eli, at four, playing a tiny guitar with a top hat on his head in a hilarious homage to Slash from Guns N' Roses; Eli dressed up as Peter Pan for a school play, tearfully complaining to Bullfrog who seemed to be reassuring him about the tights he was wearing; Eli and CeCe dancing with wild abandon, their limbs akimbo; Eli and Bullfrog working on the Mustang together, their faces smeared with grease.

The last chords of "Beautiful Boy" faded softly and then seamlessly blended into Bullfrog's acoustic version of "In My Life" by The Beatles. Eli appeared on screen in all of his middle school glory – shaggy hair in his eyes, skater clothes, too cool for school attitude, and signature smirk plastered across his face.

Adam guffawed, and Eli shot him a death glare.

The scene shifted, and Eli appeared in a dress shirt and tie, a pretty, dark haired girl in a black dress by his side.

"Oh, Julia," CeCe breathed, her eyes becoming instantly shiny. "Sweet, sweet girl."

Clare felt Eli tense next to her. She reached over and put her hand on his knee to steady him, and he grasped on to her tightly, bringing her hand up to his chest and holding it there.

On screen, Eli carefully tried to pin a corsage to Julia's dress, before giving up and handing it to his mom. The two kids smiled shyly at each other, smirking at the ridiculousness of the situation, as CeCe worked diligently to attach the corsage to Julia's dress.

The scene melded into a shot of Eli's middle school graduation and then what could only be his first day of high school - CeCe clandestinely taking video from across the street as Eli rode his skateboard up to the front steps of the school. There was a shot of Eli holding up his newly earned drivers license and then another of a shiny, black hearse pulling up the driveway.

Clare felt her pulse increase at the sight of Morty but took a deep breath and tried not to let it show.

Eli looked at her out of the corner of his eye and brushed his fingers over the top of her hand soothingly. She turned her body slightly, giving him a soft smile of assurance.

The music quietly eased into an intricate guitar solo, and images of Adam, Clare, and Eli appeared on screen. In one scene, they were working on a project which rapidly deteriorated into a wrestling match between the boys - Clare looking at the camera and shrugging her shoulders in defeat. In another scene that must have been secretly recorded, Eli and Clare kissed on the steps in front of the house, blissfully unaware of any audience.

Adam groaned and rolled his eyes, but CeCe shushed him, a happy smile on her face.

There was a shot of Eli, Fiona, and Imogen rehearsing for the play and another of Eli and Clare studying at the dining room table, laughing over some inside joke.

The music swelled, and Eli appeared on screen holding his college acceptance letter - CeCe excitedly jumping up and down in the background. There was a shot of Eli's college acceptance party with everyone outfitted in silly party hats - Adam gleefully stuffing his face, smiling at the camera between bites; his mouth smeared with red sauce.

The last shot was of Eli, decked out in his cap and gown, skateboarding down his driveway with a goofy grin on his face. The camera panned to CeCe who watched her boy with shining eyes. She looked at her son and then back at the camera and gave a small wave. The last strains of the song sounded, Bullfrog's raspy voice earnestly intoning, "In my life - I love you more," and the screen faded to black.*

The audience sat silently for a few moments watching the black screen before CeCe gave a strangled cry, jumped up, and propelled herself into Bullfrog's arms, her shoulders shaking with heartfelt sobs.

Smiling, Clare reached up and helplessly wiped at the tears that streamed down her face. Even Adam sniffed a few times and blinked back a few tears, rolling his eyes at his own sappiness.

Stunned, Eli looked at his parents. God, how was he going to do this without them? They had always been there for him - always been there to pick him up and dust him off when he fell – and, God, he had fallen so much. How was he ever going to do this by himself? Shakily, he stood and walked toward them.

"Dad?" he said, his voice hoarse and questioning. No longer was he the eighteen year old man going off to college in the morning. Instead he was the anxious, bright-eyed boy in Peter Pan tights, terrified that everyone was going to laugh at him.

Without hesitating, Bullfrog reached over and pulled Eli into a tight embrace, grabbing on to the back of Eli's head and crushing the boy to him. Father and son stood silently, grasping on to each other for dear life, saying all that they had to say without words.

CeCe smiled a watery smile and stepped back, letting the two have their moment. Tearfully, she turned to Adam and Clare and gave a small half wave.

* * *

><p>…<p>

Later, when it was time for Adam and Clare to go, Eli excused himself and Clare with the pretense of wanting to give Clare her goodbye present. Leaving Adam chatting with his parents, Eli quietly pulled Clare into his room, softly closing the door behind her.

He drew her towards him, desperately grabbing on to her, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

Feeling his palpable anxiety, Clare reached up and caressed his face, gently pulling his mouth towards her, hoping to kiss away any fears and doubts.

For a second, Eli allowed himself to get lost in her kiss, shutting off his brain and letting his body respond on instinct - backing her up until the back of her knees hit his mattress and then pulling her down to his bed. He kissed her passionately, trying to poor all of his love and longing into the simple, physical act; and she responded in kind.

Finally, gasping for air, he pulled back to bury his face in her neck. "Can you just call your mom and tell her you are staying the night at Hannah's?" he asked, his muffled tone pleading and rough. "Please."

Clare smiled down at him, running her hand softly over his hair. "As tempting as that sounds, my mother wasn't born yesterday. She knows that you are leaving tomorrow, and I think she would get just a tad bit suspicious if I suddenly remembered a sleepover I had to attend."

"I don't care," Eli said sulkily, trying to hide his desperation with a forced petulance. "I don't want you to go. I want you to stay with me tonight."

Clare colored. "If I tried anything sneaky tonight, there would be no way I could ever talk her into letting me come with Adam to visit you next month," Clare explained patiently. "Besides," she said, her voice shaky and unsure, "we haven't been back together all that long, and I don't want to rush things this time. I don't think I'm quite ready to stay at Hotel Eli yet," she looked around the room, a brave smile on her face, "even though it is four stars."

Eli smirked and raised his eyebrows at her. "I wasn't even thinking of that, Clare," he assured her. "I just want to be close to you tonight – to hold you as long as I can."

Clare blushed and bit her lip, dipping her face down to kiss him sweetly, her teeth lightly grazing his bottom lip and causing him to temporarily lose the ability to breathe. They kissed for a few more minutes, before Clare pulled back and looked him in the eyes.

"Adam's probably waiting," she said, her voice regretful. "We've been up here for a while."

Eli groaned and pulled her close, tightening his grasp and effectively cutting off her air supply. Finally noticing her red face, he released her and sat up.

"Well, I was going to give you this tomorrow, but since I used it as an excuse to lure you into my dark and foreboding lair, I better give it to you now." He reached down into the drawer of his bedside table and handed her a present sloppily wrapped in brown paper. "Don't open it now," he said, biting his lip. "Wait until I'm gone." The tears sprang to his eyes before he could stop them, and he blinked them back furiously.

Clare smiled a soft half-smile and took the wrapped present from him. "Thank you," she breathed, pulling him towards her and kissing his cheek, letting her lips linger just a little longer than necessary - her tongue catching a stray tear as it slipped down his face. "I have something for you at my house. I'll bring it tomorrow morning."

"Clare, I …" Eli tried hoarsely.

Suddenly, a sharp knock sounded on the door. "Dude, Clare," Adam called. "I'm starting to get gray hair out here. If you want a ride home, the Torres Express is leaving now."

"Sorry," Clare cried, flustered. "I'm coming." She stood and started walking towards the door. But, before she could get there, Eli caught her wrist and pulled her into one, last, searing kiss.

"Don't go, Edwards," he whispered in her ear. "Please."

"I have to," she said sadly, leaning up to smooth the worry lines around his mouth. "But I'll be here bright and early tomorrow morning."

He closed his eyes and swallowed before giving her a weak smile. Leaning forward, he reached around her body and opened the door.

Red-faced and teary-eyed, the two of them walked down the stairs together.

* * *

><p>…<p>

Later that night, Clare paced in her room. Try as she might, she just couldn't settle. Scenes from the day kept flashing across her mind. She kept picturing Eli's desperate face as he asked her to stay the night – kept hearing the strained anxiety in his voice as he begged her not to go.

Damn it, Clare! She drew a shaky hand through her hair. It was going to be OK. He was going to be OK. He was going to the college of his dreams into a program that was, for all intents and purposes, designed for him. And he was so much better. His body seemed to have finally adjusted to his medication. Not only that, his doctor had given him the number of a good, local psychiatrist whose office wasn't far from St. James College so that Eli could continue the strides he was making in therapy. He was doing well - really, really well.

And, as lost as she felt tonight, Clare was going to be OK too. She was strong. She was independent. She was excited about her senior year. And she and Eli were in a good place. They were solid. They would survive this. It wasn't like she would never see him again. Maybe she could talk her mother into letting her visit Eli in college next month. And there was always Thanksgiving break and Christmas break. They were going to be fine. There was absolutely nothing to worry about - nothing whatsoever. But then, why was she so worried?

"Come on, Clare," she mentally reprimanded herself, "be rational."

She paused her agitated pacing and inhaled shakily, letting her glance settle on the paper wrapped gift sitting on her desk. Eli wanted her to wait and open it after he was gone. But he would be gone in less than eight hours. Surely, he wouldn't mind her opening it just a little early. Besides, she was starting to doubt her own gift to him. She had to be sure he hadn't gotten her something so awesome that it would make her little gift seem stupid and childish.

Cautiously, she approached her desk. With shaking hands she grabbed the gift, sliding her fingernail under the taped seam of the wrapping and slipping it down. The paper fell away to reveal a hardback book of love poems. She turned to the Table of Contents and skimmed down the authors: W.H. Auden, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Robert Browning, Robert Burns, Lord Byron, John Donne, Andrew Marvell, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Pablo Neruda, Edgar Allan Poe, William Shakespeare, Percy Bysshe Shelley, William Butler Yeats – the list went on and on.

She smiled, tearing up, and flipped through the book - reading the words of love and longing enshrined forever in ink and paper.

In the last section of the book, her fingertips noticed a thickening of one of the pages. Curiously she turned to the anomalous page, her breath catching in her throat when she recognized the spidery scrawl. She bit her lip and read Eli's poem.

**Clare**

**At the mention of her name, I open – I fill**

**This shallow, sunken shell is infused with her**

**Growing, rounding, coming to life -**

**The wizened corners and parched, sterile landscape saturating – overflowing with her**

**...**

**At the sound of her voice, the music starts**

**Every nerve ending thrumming, strumming, vibrating in electric harmony**

**The woodwind section of my ragged breathing**

**The pounding, syncopated rhythm of my heart**

**My muscles and tendons stretched taught, as her voice plays over them like a concert violinist**

**A virtuoso of sinew and bone, of breath and pulse**

**...**

**At the sight of her smile, the colors explode**

**The gray haze of my world recedes, sinking and swirling away like dirty water circling a drain**

**Bright oranges, vivid purples, brilliant blues, and vibrant yellows assault my eyes,**

**Wash away the cloudy fog, the protective film**

**Forcing me to face the unforgiving light – stripped, vulnerable, clean**

**...**

**At the feel of her touch, I awake**

**Rubbing the dusty, dry sleep out of my eyes,**

**Stretching tired limbs – sore and atrophied from numbing inertia**

**Yawning, my voice hoarse and rusty, unused and forgotten**

**I turn to face the day**

**Alive**

She closed her eyes, overwhelmed. Hot, salty tears slipped down her face, and she drew in gasping breaths. Suddenly, as if compelled by some strange force, she turned and started pulling clothes out of her drawers, blindly stuffing them inside her book bag. In a daze, she grabbed her toothbrush and comb, dumping her entire make-up drawer into her bag in a jumble of lip gloss, concealer, and blush. Going to the closet, she grabbed her own neatly wrapped present, cramming it unceremoniously in among the cluttered array of clothes and make-up. She pulled a sweat shirt on over her pajamas and stuffed a pair of Converse on her feet.

Cautiously, she opened her bedroom door, and being careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard outside of Jake's room, slowly crept down the stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, she let out a relieved breath. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen from a kitchen drawer, she composed a note to her mother, telling her that she had left early for Eli's house and would return sometime in the morning. Her mother knew that Clare had to leave incredibly early in the morning since Eli had to be on the road by 6:00 am; Clare simply made it a point not to mention just how early in the morning she was leaving. Hopefully, her mom wouldn't wander downstairs in the night and find the note, and Clare's subterfuge would go unnoticed.

Walking to the hall closet, Clare grabbed her purse and quietly opened the door, pulling it shut behind her and locking it from the outside. She inhaled deeply and prepared herself for the long, dark walk to Eli's house.

Just as she was descending the front steps, headlights approached and came to a stop right in front of her. Damn it! It was Jake back from another one of his late night dates. The passenger window of the truck slipped down.

"Going somewhere, Clare?" Jake asked curiously, his eyebrows raised.

Sighing, Clare turned and addressed him. Things had been improving between the two of them lately. Now that she had moved past the hurt of Jake's rejection and on to Eli, the little things like Jake's smile or his voice didn't even faze her anymore. In fact, she was actually starting to think of Jake as more of a family member than as an ex-boyfriend – although she thought of him more as a dorky, older cousin than a brother. She had even covered for him last month when Glen and her mother had caught him inviting a girl over to the house in their absence. Clare had pretended that the girl had been there on her invitation, saving Jake from a few weeks of grounding and surprising the heck out of him.

"It's Eli's last night," Clare explained tiredly, anxious to start her journey. "I can't sleep."

Jake smiled an understanding smile. "So you thought you'd risk the wrath of Helen, not to mention the dark streets of Toronto, so that you could surprise your boyfriend?"

"Something like that," Clare admitted sheepishly.

Jake leaned over and opened the passenger door. "Get in, Clare," he instructed firmly. "I'll take you over, and I'll cover for you tomorrow."

"Seriously?" Clare questioned in disbelief, hesitating before sliding into to truck and closing the door behind her. She looked at him skeptically. "Somehow, I can't help but feel that this reeks of entrapment."

Jake laughed good naturedly. "No, seriously, Clare. I owe you one." He put the truck into drive and pulled out onto the street.

"It's still a little bizarre," Clare mused. "My ex-boyfriend is driving me over to my current boyfriend's house so that I can spend the night with him."

"Yeah, but then isn't our whole family like the definition of bizarre? We're kind of like a screwed-up version of _The Brady Bunch_, only with more attractive family members and no Alice," Jake teasingly replied.

"Good point, Martin," Clare said with a soft smile. "Although, I think you are forgetting about Peter. I always found him pretty darn attractive, although definitely not the sharpest tool in the Brady shed."

Jake smiled at her, and they fell into silence.

A few minute later, Jake took a deep breath. "Look, Clare. This is entirely none of my business, and I know I should just keep my big mouth shut, but I… um… I just hope you are… um … ready and everything…" his voice trailed off uncertainly.

Clare colored and shifted uneasily in her seat. "Yeah, well. It isn't really any of your business," she said, watching as Jake's face fell. "But, just so you know, I'm not planning on 'sleeping with' Eli tonight. I'm just planning on being with him – spending the last few hours with him before he has to go."

Jake exhaled in relief and turned his attention back to the road.

"Yeah," Clare continued. "Unfortunately, he failed the magazine quiz."

Jake looked over at her in shock, his mouth agape and his eyes wide.

"Just kidding," she laughed, suddenly realizing that she could now joke with Jake about their romantic past. Things had definitely changed for the better.

Jake grinned at her, his eyes growing soft. "I hope … " he started, breaking off. "I hope he realizes how lucky he is to have you."

Clare looked at him suspiciously. "What's the punch line, Martin?" she questioned, cocking her head inquiringly.

"No punch line," Jake said softly. "I'm being sincere."

Clare looked at him questioningly, before turning her gaze back to the hazy darkness of the city streets.

A few minutes later, Jake pulled up in front of Eli's house.

"Why don't you text him and make sure he's awake and able to let you in?" Jake suggested. He looked up at the dark skies. "I don't want to leave you out here alone. I think the rain is going to start soon."

Dutifully, Clare pulled out her phone and fired off a text. Within seconds, she saw the light in Eli's room blink on. Her phone buzzed.

**Eli: One minute.**

Clare turned to Jake. "He's coming," she said, grabbing her bag. "I left a note for Mom on the kitchen table telling her I left early in the morning for Eli's house. I'm praying she won't find it tonight."

"I'll grab it when I get home," Jake said, his voice conspiratorial. "I'll set my alarm for 5:00 and put it out for you. If your mom asks, I'll say that I saw you out. I'll just tell her I got up early to go lift with Drew or something."

"Why are you doing all this?" Clare asked puzzled, looking at Jake searchingly. "Why are you being so nice?"

"Clare, I do care about you," Jake said softly. "I never stopped caring about you. I know you don't like to hear it, but it's the truth."

Clare glanced out the window and noticed Eli standing on his front steps anxiously looking towards Jake's truck. She turned back to Jake.

"Thanks, Jake," she said sincerely. "I really appreciate it." She looked at him awkwardly. "I … uh, better be going." She opened the passenger door, flooding the cab of the truck with light.

"See you," Jake said, raising his hand and giving an awkward salute in Eli's direction.

"Bye," Clare said. "Thanks again."

"No problem, Clare." Jake smiled.

Clare closed the door to the truck and turned towards Eli, her face breaking into a grin as she approached him.

"What the hell, Edwards?" Eli questioned in disbelief as soon as Clare was close enough to hear. He looked over to where the tail lights of Jake's truck were rapidly disappearing into the darkness. "Was that Jake? Did he just drop you off so you could spend the night with me?"

"Yep," Clare said smiling.

"Well, fuck me," Eli breathed out dazedly, shaking his head in shocked amazement.

Clare smiled wickedly. "Sorry, Eli, that's not on the agenda for tonight. However, if you play your cards right, you just might be able to wake up next to me." She raised her eyebrows at him suggestively.

Eli blushed and grinned at Clare's uncharacteristic forwardness. "Why, Clare Edwards, you little devil."

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into the house.

* * *

><p>…<p>

Eli quietly ushered Clare into his room and closed the door. He turned to her, his expression suddenly wary.

"So, what are you doing here, Clare?" he asked hesitatingly, his eyes bright and flashing. "Why the sudden change of heart? Earlier, you seemed pretty set on not risking your mother's ire to stay with me. What changed?" He ran a hand through his hair nervously causing it to stick up in all directions. He looked tense, wound-up - so incredibly anxious.

Clare walked towards him and placed a calming hand on his arm. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted softly. "I kept thinking of you and wanting to be with you. And I finally realized that it was stupid not to be with you when you were just a few blocks away. And so, I … well, I snuck out."

Eli smiled at her, pulling her close; his anxiety fading at her touch. "You're so sneaky, Edwards. Maybe you should teach …"

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" Clare interjected.

Eli raised his eyebrows. "Never!" He pulled her to him and kissed her sweetly, breaking away to tangle his fingers in her hair. "I'm glad you came," he breathed into her neck. "I couldn't sleep either."

Clare grinned at him and shivered.

"Cold?" Eli questioned, running his hands up and down her arms softly.

She nodded, and he nudged her towards the bed, pulling the covers back for her.

Once they were firmly ensconced under his blankets, he put out the bedside light and turned to wrap his arms around her from behind. They lay in silence; their bodies curled tightly together; their shallow breaths slowly synchronizing in the darkness.

"I have a confession to make," Clare said quietly, breaking the stillness of the moment.

"Hmmm?" Eli mumbled, shifting closer and fitting his chin into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

"I opened your gift," she whispered sheepishly. She felt Eli's grin on her neck.

"Why am I not surprised?" Eli said sarcastically.

"I.." Clare tried. She cleared her throat quietly. "Eli, your poem is the most beautiful thing I have ever read in my whole life," she said, her voice choking with tears. "Thank you."

"I meant every word," El breathed, kissing her shoulder lightly and closing his eyes. He nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing her in – inhaling her into him until he could almost feel her pulsing through his bloodstream.

They lay in the soft silence, arms wrapped around each other, breathing in tandem, enjoying the last, few, peaceful moments together.

Assuming that Eli had drifted off, Clare was fighting sleep herself when she felt him suddenly tense behind her. He tightened his hold on her anxiously, burrowing his face into her shoulder almost roughly. She could faintly feel a cold wetness on the skin of her neck.

"I'm not sure if I can do this, Clare," he whispered, his voice shaky.

She loosened his hands and rolled over, turning her body into him, bringing her face up to his. "What do you mean?" she whispered, reaching up to run her hand from his ear down his neck to his shoulder.

"This," Eli tried to explain. "College. Leaving. Going out on my own." He swallowed noisily. "What if I hate it?" he asked, his voice hoarse and desperate. "What if I spiral into depression? What if I have a panic attack or a manic episode? God, Clare. I don't know anyone there. What if I lose control?"

She slipped her hand down from his shoulder and let it come to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart rate. "We're all just a phone call away, Eli," she reminded him. "If you get depressed or anxious or manic, we call your doctor and go from there. You're not alone in this." She smoothed her hand back up to his face, caressing his cheek and brushing away the few tears that had escaped from his eyes. "Besides, you haven't had an anxiety attack in a long, long time, and you've been working with your therapist on coping mechanisms." She kissed the corner of his mouth softly. "And you will make friends, Eli. By this time tomorrow, I bet you will know a lot of people." She kissed the other corner of his mouth. "And if you hate it, you don't have to stay. It's college, not a prison sentence."

"But people will think I'm such a failure if I don't stick it out," Eli argued, his voice high and rough.

"Since when have you cared about what other people think?" Clare teased, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead. She brought her face back to his, her voice softly serious. "Look, Eli. If it's not a good fit for you - if you try it and determine that you're just not ready for college, there is absolutely no shame in coming home. No one is going to think any differently of you – especially me. But, I think we are putting the cart before the horse here. You're not even there yet. I think that there is a very good chance that you are going to love it."

Eli exhaled shakily. "Clare Edwards – always the voice of reason," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He grasped her hip and pulled her body flush with his. "What am I going to do without you?" His voice broke earnestly.

She kissed him then – trying to quell his worry and anxiety; her mouth forceful and demanding, attempting to push away his fears with the warmth of her lips and tongue.

Overcome, he grabbed her tightly; his fingers grasping, desperate to pull her as close as possible - to breach any space between them. God, he wanted her – and not just in the carnal sense of the word. He just wanted to be close to her – he just fucking needed to be close to her - he just fucking needed her.

Before he could even process it, he felt an uncontrolled flush of emotion surging over his body - the rolling tides of his desperation and desire breaking over him, flooding his senses and clouding his thoughts. Distantly, as if through a fog, he felt himself clutching on to her, boring into her, frantically attempting to meld their bodies together – hoping that if he could somehow fuse himself with her, he could take a part of her with him when he left.

In response to his tight hold and breathless, fumbling advances, Clare felt her own body softening – yielding - molding itself around him. She breathed in and allowed herself to be shaped and shifted by him - her body loose and malleable in reaction to his taut desperation. She let go and let him wash over her – let herself be caught up in him – caught up in the pull and release of his urgency.

And then there was only her. In her warm, elastic embrace, the rest of the world fell away – all the fear and doubt and anxiety flowing out of him in rivers. His mouth softened. His ragged breathing steadied. His heart slipped down from where it had been lodged in his throat and, once more, took its rightful position in his chest. Little by little, his shaking hands loosened their death grip on her. Slowly and cautiously they traveled up her torso, ghosting over the planes of her stomach, skimming over the delicate bones of her ribcage, before finally coming to rest on the smooth buttons of her pajama top. He pulled back from her kiss, resting his forehead on hers.

"Clare?" he questioned hoarsely, his voice entreating and raw. And the whole world was contained in that one word.

Smiling softly, Clare closed her eyes and nodded, her hot breath mingling with his.

And it was good. And it was right. And she did not break her vow, but boundaries were crossed and new territory conquered. And afterwards, in the heated flush of the afterglow, she held his shaking body to her chest and whispered assurances in his ear – telling him that he was going to love college – that he was going to excel and thrive and succeed – and that they would talk every day and see each other every vacation - that he would be so busy living the college life that he wouldn't even have time to miss her.

And he pulled her closer still, brushing the column of her neck with his mouth, and pretended to believe her. And they both finally drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, tangled up in each other in a jigsaw of limbs.

* * *

><p>….<p>

Morning came early with the blaring alarm and the sound of thunder.

Sometime during the night, the storm had bubbled into fruition; the cool rain falling from the sky in sheets of water, washing away the tired, stale, summer air.

Oblivious to the tempest raging outside, Eli and Clare went through the morning in a silent, numbing daze, both refusing to acknowledge that these were their last few minutes together, at least, for the immediate future.

Bullfrog had woken up extra early to run out for donuts and coffee. However, no one could even pretend to have an appetite; and the plate of donuts sat untouched on the kitchen counter – a fitting monument to the closing chapter of Eli's childhood, garishly captured in chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles.

CeCe's eyes were tired and red rimmed, but she plastered on a wide smile, trying to embrace the excitement of the day instead of the sadness. Every now and again, in passing, she would reach over to Eli and tell him how proud she was of him or fondly pat him on the head. And he would smile a nervous smile in her direction and avoid eye contact.

Anxious about the road conditions now that the storm was here, Bullfrog hurried them along, pushing up their departure time by fifteen minutes.

He and CeCe were in the van now, patiently waiting for Eli to say his goodbyes to Clare.

The two not quite lovers stood in the foyer of his house, the door open to the heavy, gray curtain of rain. Eli looked at Clare, breathing hard. "Well, Edwards," he said, his voice choked. "I guess this is it."

Clare smiled at him, her eyes misty. "Yep," she breathed. "My boyfriend, the college scholar." She reached up to lightly touch his cheek. "I can barely believe you are really going. What am I going to do without all of your sarcasm and inappropriate humor?" she tried to joke; but her brave smile trembled, and she blinked back tears.

He closed his eyes and pulled her towards him, roughly kissing her – all sloppy tongues and clashing lips and teeth.

She kissed him back, trying to keep up with his frantic pace, before firmly grabbing his face and carefully slowing down the kiss.

Obediently, he followed her lead and slowed down his own body's responses, taking a moment to feel the softness of her mouth – to memorize the taste of her. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the hot film of tears threatening to spill, he told himself to remember this, to relish this, since this would have to get him through weeks and weeks without her.

Bullfrog honked from the driveway, and reluctantly Eli pulled away, resting his forehead against Clare's and locking eyes with her. "I love you, Clare," he said, his voice thick. "I love you so much - maybe more than I should."

Clare smiled through her tears. "I know, Eli," she said. "I love you too." She sniffed and pulled back, shaking her head to try and gain control of her emotions. She stooped down and rummaged through her bag, bringing out a prettily wrapped present. "Here," she said, handing the package to Eli. "It can't compare to the gift you gave me, but it will have to do." She put her hand over Eli's. "Wait and open it in the car," she said shakily.

She paused and looked at him searchingly for a few moments; then, suddenly, she reached up and forcefully pulled his face towards her, staring directly into his eyes.

"I am so incredibly proud of you," she said her voice hard and vehement and her eyes alight with some strange fire. "So very, very proud. You've gone through so much, Eli – stuff that a kid your age should never have to go through - and just look at you! Look at what you've done!" She narrowed her eyes, her gaze fierce and intense. "You are the strongest person I know, Eli," she said, her voice passionate. "Your mom is completely right – you are destined for great things." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "So go - go and do great things." She kissed him aggressively and, before he could even respond, pushed him towards the doorway.

Eli looked at her in desperation. "Clare I …"

But the horn honked again.

"Go," Clare said with a smile. "Call me tonight after you are all checked in."

"I love you," he said weakly, the tears finally falling down his face. "I don't know what else to say."

"I love you too," she said, giving him a soft smile. "I'll talk to you soon."

He gave her one, last, frantic glance so full of longing it almost broke her heart. Then he turned and, without looking back, walked out into the storm.

Clare stepped out into the rain, closing and locking the door behind her, and returned the spare key to its place behind CeCe's planter. Pulling the hood of CeCe's borrowed rain slicker over her head, she descended the steps and down the front walk, waving as the van pulled out into the street.

Bullfrog honked the horn in a noisy, farewell salute, and Clare watched until the red tail lights of the van disappeared into the city streets. She breathed in and out, regaining her composure. It was going to be fine. Everything was as it should be. Everything was right.

Sighing determinedly, she turned and started the wet walk towards the bus stop.

* * *

><p>….<p>

Eli sat in the back seat of the van, staring out of the window at the dripping, gray buildings of downtown Toronto, as Guns N' Roses' "Sweet Child O' Mine" played softly from the van's sound system.

"Thanksgiving break will be here before you know it," Bullfrog tried to comfort from the front seat. "And you'll be so busy in college that you won't even have time to be homesick."

But Eli only shook his head in response. He knew that, if he tried to speak, he would lose it.

Bullfrog seemed to understand this and turned his attention back to the road. And CeCe pivoted in her seat to give Eli an encouraging smile before turning back to face front, softly singing along to the music.

Through glassy eyes, Eli watched as the city buildings morphed and shifted; the summer dust and grime slipping down their fronts in a film of dirty water.

Soon, Bullfrog pulled onto the highway leaving Toronto; and Eli got lost in his thoughts. Breathing in resolutely, he allowed himself to think back over the last, few, tumultuous years of his life, letting his mind linger on each memory –- Julia and the headiness of first love; Julia's death and the staggering numbness of loss; the overwhelming guilt that came with losing her; the choking despair and darkness of his days of hoarding; the unexpected brightness of Clare; the happy camaraderie of his friendship with Adam; the safety and warmth of Clare's love; the unrelenting chaos of his mental illness; the accident and the dark days following when he had been so incredibly and so hopelessly lost; finding Clare again; loving Clare again; leaving Clare again. He sighed exhaustedly. His life was like something out of classic literature - one of those sprawling, epic, Russian love stories, only without the tragically bleak ending – or, at least, he hoped so.

He looked down at the present in his lap and smiled. It was beautifully wrapped, each corner symmetrical, the wrapping paper patterns matching up perfectly – so incredibly Clare. Grinning, he ripped open the paper and found a beautiful, handmade book, carefully compiled and organized. It was a guide to help ease him into his new life at college. He flipped through the pages.

There was a section on St. James College and the surrounding area – lists of places to visit and things to do. Clare had included restaurant reviews and directions to the town's bookstores, coffee shops, and theaters. She had a pasted a map of the town on to one of the pages and had circled all of the libraries, museums, and parks. She had even researched local bands and listed upcoming shows she thought he might like.

There was also a section on academics. Clare had carefully recorded his class schedule and included a map of campus showing the quickest routes between each class. She had highlighted the reading list for each class, starring the books she knew he had already read and owned. She had even included a suggested study schedule to help keep him on track; its margins decorated with gold stars and tiny drawings of Jolly Ranchers.

There was a section on what to do if he got homesick. The pages of this section were filled with pictures of CeCe and Bullfrog, Adam, Fiona, Imogen, and Clare. She had written down funny anecdotes and inside jokes and had included a list of movies and songs that would remind him of home. There was even a CD, carefully tucked away in an envelope that had been pasted on to one of the pages. Pulling the CD out, Eli smiled when he read the title, "Home Sweet Home," and the cheeky disclaimer scribbled under it: "Don't worry – Bullfrog helped me. I promise your ears won't bleed if you listen to this." And at the back of the homesick section, Clare had included a calendar with each break and holiday outlined in red - a vivid, visual reminder that he would see her again soon.

Suddenly, Bullfrog ran over a bump in the road, jarring Eli from his careful perusal of Clare's gift. Startled, he looked out the window and noticed that the storm clouds had started to break. Soft shards of sunlight were inexorably pushing their way out of the dark sky, illuminating the wet ground, causing it to glow and shine almost preternaturally.

It was over. The rain was over. They had weathered the storm. They had faced it, and, somehow, they had come out of it stronger.

He flipped to the last page of the book. It was a picture of the two of them on his graduation day. He was still dressed in the bright blue gown, but his mortar board was placed rakishly on Clare's head, the tassel hanging in her face. She was laughing, her eyes shining with mirth. His arms were wrapped around her from behind, and the grin on his face was almost heartbreaking in its sincerity. Underneath the picture Clare had written a message in her loopy scrawl: "When things get tough, think of me and know that, wherever I am, whatever I am doing, I am loving you." He smiled.

Despite all the crap that they had been through; despite all the break-downs and the tears and the fights and the craziness; despite the fact that "happily ever after" was never really going to be a viable option for the two of them, Clare Edwards loved him. She freaking loved him.

Life was good.

* * *

><p>…<p>

***"In My Life" written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney**


End file.
